


More Than Just a Midnight Show

by jesustakethewii (canonmerlinisatwink)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Prostitution, Stripper!AU, brief mentions of past drug use, sex negative views, slight homophobia, university!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonmerlinisatwink/pseuds/jesustakethewii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael, a computer engineering major at the University of Austin, has only recently suffered from a break-up with his long-time girlfriend, Lindsay. This quickly makes him one of the most insufferable people in Ray’s circle of friends. Worried and more than a little tired of his best friend’s sulking, Ray winds up getting VIP reservations to what Miles and Kerry dubbed as the “best strip club in the city”. Coming into the bar that night, Michael and Ray discover that their friends might’ve left out one incredibly important detail.</p><p>Gavin, a struggling university student trying to make ends meet, is one of the most sought-after dancers in Cockbyte, one of the many strip clubs owned by famed adult gay media producer Burnie Burns. He gets assigned to a VIP room one night, only to find out that the guy he’s supposed to entertain isn’t exactly ready for it. Or, just for the fact that they were actually in a gay strip club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was beta-ed by the ever-awesome Stephanie, who just dropped from heaven one day and told me she would beta my fics, and basically became the greatest person in the whole wide world. I’d marry you if I could. *smooches you*
> 
> Abbey (tumblr: imaginedecember) had also been quite instrumental to the fic. She read through the entire first draft after me and Stephanie were done with it, and managed to point out all those other things we’ve missed. You are wonderful, my friend. *showers you with confetti*
> 
> cREDITS TO SHIMI FOR INSPIRING MICHAEL'S ROCK-BOTTOM PLAN TO BECOME A MONK IN NEPAL THIS IS FOR U BABE

Ray Narvaez Jr. likes to think of himself as an awesome friend. Someone you’d probably want to keep around for the rest of your life, when you got right down to it.

 

He’s a good listener, for one. The type of person you’d want to vent all your frustrations to because he’s pretty much mastered the art of nodding sympathetically and giving sound advice when the need arises. He’s also great at being the voice of reason whenever his friends are being particularly stupid (which happens often enough, if you ask him), and making sure nobody gets into too much trouble.

 

He’s _that_ person who can stand back and see a friend’s situation for what it is—something that can be remedied with just a little planning and execution. Because Ray is, as far as he is concerned, Good with Plans.

 

Which is why he’s now holding two slips of glossy paper in his hand.

 

He stares at them doubtfully, wondering if what he has in mind is the appropriate course of action for this particular scenario.

 

But, then again, it’s _Michael_. And if Ray has learned anything in his three years at UT, it’s that one can never be sure when dealing with a complete and utter basketcase like Michael fucking Jones.

 

Especially if the person in question is your roommate _and_ best friend.

 

Right. So you may be wondering what the hell he’s on about.

 

See here: Michael, his best friend of three years and counting, is currently suffering from a major (and by that Ray means _really-fucking-devastating_ ) breakup from his girlfriend of more than half a decade, Lindsay Tuggey.

 

Well, it’s not as if they parted horribly—in Lindsay’s opinion, at least. The woman had taken Michael’s hand in hers one fateful weekend night and told him that, well, she’d gotten accepted to United Nations Volunteers’ South Africa Programme. That meant she would be taking a plane to Pretoria the next month, as soon as her working papers were finalized.

 

Being completely clueless as he is, Michael had nodded and smiled even, proud that his girlfriend was finally doing that thing she’d always talked about for the years they’d been together.

 

Lindsay had bitten her lip and looked down, seeming troubled. She then told Michael that the assignment would last ten months. Which, if she was lucky, could be stretched on to something like a year or two.

                                         

Michael still didn’t get it.

 

In retrospect, Lindsay had always been the more sensible of the two. She _knew_ that even a relationship like theirs wouldn’t be able to stand that long of a separation—and the fact that, to be honest, she just wasn’t _that_ ready to give up her aspirations and settle down in a house with a white picket fence and 2.5 kids somewhere in suburban Texas.

 

Michael, on the other hand, felt the exact opposite.

 

So yeah, Ray had pretty much been left with the unenviable duty of dealing with a humiliated and heartbroken Michael that night, which mainly consisted of getting the man shit drunk and making sure he didn’t puke all over their dorm room’s carpet. It was a gross and thankless job, but he did it nevertheless, since he is, after all, a Good Friend.

 

The morning after that, Michael had woken up with the mother of all hangovers, but was nevertheless calm and somewhat amiable, even asking if Ray wanted to call up Miles and Kerry for a round of Halo that night after class. Ray had agreed, thinking that that was the end of his mourning.

 

Boy, was he _wrong_.

 

Michael didn’t show up after class. He, Miles, and Kerry were halfway through their third game when Michael had stumbled into their room, drunk as a sailor and reeking of alcohol, and had promptly vomited all over Kerry’s shoes.

 

That had gone on for the next couple of weeks, in which Ray had tried—and failed—to keep Michael from frequenting the seedy bar that stood a few blocks away from their favorite sports bar. At some point he’d given up and settled for waiting for his best friend to show up at the asscrack of dawn, a bucket in hand and a bottle of aspirin set up on the nightstand.

 

It probably wasn’t the best way to deal with Michael’s sudden nose dive into self-destruction, but it was a way nonetheless. And, frankly, Ray didn’t know what else to do besides call up Lindsay and beg her to cancel her flight and take his shitty-ass best friend back.

 

(He did, and all Lindsay had done was fall silent for several seconds, and eventually told him—in a quiet, miserable voice that showed maybe, just maybe, she was as broken up over it as Michael was—that Ray should try and make sure Michael finds someone else, preferably a nice chick who wouldn’t leave him for her dreams of working toward eradicating poverty or some other humanitarian bullshit. Ray had no other choice but to agree, despite thinking to himself: _Can’t you see? You’re the love of his life and you’re breaking his heart—tearing it into motherfucking pieces and shitting on the remains—by not even trusting him to **wait**!_ )

 

Weeks passed and Lindsay had eventually left, taking what remained of Michael’s sorry heart with her and leaving Ray with a shell of what had once been his best friend.

 

Michael had stopped drinking that day. Instead, he had resorted to holing up in their dorm room, studying like there was no tomorrow. He had refused any attempts to get him outside, and that had gone on until Ray found him lying on the floor with his textbook on VLSI principles maimed and slathered with highlighter ink a few feet away from where he was. His computer monitor was smoking on the desk, with a gaping hole from where Michael had probably punched it in a sudden fit of rage.

 

Ray is no stranger to academic frustration. He’s taking the same major as Michael, for Christ’s sake. But that was probably one of the scariest fits he’d seen the man throw.

 

Michael has always been an ill-tempered young man, with a penchant for profanity and destructive behavior. But he’s generally an all-around nice guy, and Lindsay had always been around to help calm him down whenever he’s in a shitty mood.

 

Without Lindsay, Michael is a man without purpose. In the years Ray had known him, all he’d talked about was graduating and getting a good job for the family he and Lindsay were going to build. Now that they’ve broken up, Ray can see that Michael doesn’t have a single clue about what to do, or how to start where they left off.

 

It’s sad and more than a little frightening, as far as Ray is concerned. He’s _living_ with the man, not to mention they’ve basically been joined at the hip since freshman year, which means he’s gonna have to do _something_ about this mess, or else be doomed to suffer Michael’s zombified presence for the rest of their senior life in UT.

 

Which brings us back to the pieces of paper in his hand.

 

They’re tickets, if you were wondering. VIP passes to _Cockbyte,_ to be more exact. Cockbyte, from what Miles and Kerry said when they handed Ray the slips of paper that afternoon after their Networking and Systems class, is a gentleman’s club somewhere in the downtown area of Austin. It’s fairly upscale, despite the somewhat misleading name, and has the best dancers around.

 

It is, in short, the perfect birthday present for a heartbroken man with barely any faith left in the female species. Ray had figured they’d drag Michael out of their dorm room that Friday, strap him to the back seat, and tow him over to the club, where an attractive, nubile dancer would hopefully be waiting to step in and help usher his best friend out of his Lindsay-induced limbo.

 

All in all a great plan, with a ninety percent chance of his best friend getting at least a small amount of action to take his mind off things. Ray hopes that this time, Michael might get the idea that there are probably _other_ things he can live for aside from his ex-girlfriend.

 

It’s probably a long shot, but definitely worth a try.

 

Ray tucks the tickets back into his pocket and fervently prays to his late grandmother’s array of patron saints that Michael wouldn’t do something to mess up the plan.

 

Because, frankly, Ray’s really running out of ideas.

 

—


	2. Chapter 2

Really, though. Michael is totally fine. Really fucking ass peachy.

 

It’s not like his life revolved around Lindsay, or whatever stupid romantic notion Ray’s gotten into his head this time, it’s just that Michael, like any other man suffering from being horribly dumped by a girlfriend he thought he’d be marrying and having fucking kids with, has got to deal with his feelings his _own way,_ and if that means staying up all night studying for midterms and getting frustrated to the point of breaking his own computer equipment with his bare fists, then so be it. Michael’s _earned_ that right, and Ray’s mollycoddling isn’t helping _at all,_ so he can just stop with the concerned best friend act, thank you very much.

 

Well, all right, Michael may be more than a tad bit sore with his situation, and he did go on a fucking bender the couple of weeks after Lindsay dumped him, but isn’t that what he’s supposed to do? What, did Ray expect him to just, like, jump right up after their break-up like he and Lindsay haven’t been together since high school, and move on? Find a chick he’d be able to screw after buying her a couple of drinks, and not call the poor girl afterwards? Not fucking likely, because maybe his life _did_ revolve around Lindsay just a bit, and maybe he doesn’t want to fucking deal with women at the moment.

 

They’re mean, merciless, and vicious, and Michael’s absolutely done with them. He’s gonna fucking finish his degree, pack his bags, and spend the rest of his life herding yaks in the Himalayas with a pledge of utter celibacy. Yep, that’s a pretty good plan, all things considered. Michael would probably look good with a shaved head and donning a monk’s habit, and he’s always wanted to learn those Kung-Fu moves they probably teach in monasteries somewhere in Nepal.

 

No, he’s not being hysterical. Being a monk is a _valid_ life goal, thank you very much, not that he’s gonna tell Ray any of his plans at the moment.

 

The fucker’s probably going to burst a vein worrying over him, and Michael’s _never_ going to hear the end of it. He doesn’t need Ray embarrassing him by calling Lindsay _again,_ the meddling little shit.

 

Speaking of which, Ray’s been calling him for the past couple of hours, and Michael’s been trying to ignore the incessant ringing of his phone in favor of getting some school work done. He’s already made it clear that he’s not going out with them this week because he needs to get this paper finished by Monday, but fuck if Ray ever listens to him.

 

His phone rings again, distracting Michael from his textbook and making him put his pen down on the table with a loud _THUMP._

“Fuck!” he growls out, annoyed, and grabs the phone from his desk. “What, Ray?” he asks, hoping his tone would be enough to send warning bells to the man on the other side of the line. Michael is _so_ not in the mood, tonight.

 

 _“Happy birthday, dude!”_ Ray’s voice sounds from the other line, sounding cheery as fuck. Michael groans and plonks his head down on his desk, bemused.

 

“Fucking Christ. I completely forgot.”

 

 _“Yeah, you totally did,”_ says Ray, not sounding surprised at all. _“So, you planning on leaving the Batcave tonight?”_

“Shut up about the Batcave already, you turd. And no, I’m not leaving,” says Michael irritably. “I have this paper I need to—”

 

 _“Dude, that paper’s not due ‘til next week. I’m in that exact same class with you?”_ Ray points this out with an exasperated huff. _“Can you, like, stop being weird and anti-social for one night so we can actually celebrate the fact that your mother managed to get you out of her womb?”_

“No, Ray,” says Michael, closing his eyes and praying to the gods for patience. “I’m not leaving, and that’s it. I’m staying in the fucking Batcave.”

 

There’s a moment of silence wherein Michael expects Ray to come up with some eloquent speech about how he’s supposed to “enjoy life” or “get out more” or “start acting like a normal, sane person again”, and is surprised when all he gets is another huff. Like Ray had predicted he would respond the way he did.

 

 _“Fucking fine, you asshole,”_ Ray says after couple of seconds. _“You asked for it.”_

Michael is confused. “Asked for what?”

 

But Ray hangs up, drops the line just like that, and Michael sighs in utter annoyance as he puts the phone down. Not knowing how to explain his friend’s strange statement nor really inclined to do so, he settles for diving back to work.

 

“Fucking weirdo,” he mutters as he moves to pick up his pen. At least he managed to get his friend off his back and give him his much needed peace and quiet. His stupid birthday can wait. Not much point in celebrating it now, is there?

 

\--

 

 

Miles walks over as soon as Ray ends the call, noting the determined expression that has taken over the man’s face. He’s carrying a length of sturdy rope, rolled up loosely in his hands and ready for use.

 

“Dude, are we actually gonna do this?”

 

Ray puts the phone back in his pocket and nods with a sigh. “I guess we have to. No other way around it.”

 

Kerry, who is leaning on the wall of the corridor outside Ray and Michael’s dorm room and fiddling with a two strips of cloth in his hands, pushes himself off and grins. “You shouldn’t have called him, you know. We could’ve just, like, popped in with no warning and he’d be totally defenseless.”

 

“Well, I wanted to see if he’s willing to go without a fight,” says Ray, biting his lip. “But he seems set on holing up in the room like a fucking hermit.”

 

“Are you sure this is going to work, though?” Miles asks, looking a bit anxious. “I mean, it’s Michael. I won’t be surprised if he can fight us off, even if we take him by surprise.”

 

“Dude, have you _seen_ Michael lately?” Kerry scoffs, gesturing with the pieces of fabric in both hands. “He’s really in no condition to fight us off even if we, like, walk in and announce the entirety of our plan before we jump him. He’s totally binge-eating and oversleeping, bro, there’s no way he can fend off three healthy guys who are hell-bent on dragging him out of that smelly shithole.”

 

“Our room really is getting smelly,” Ray admits, frowning. “It’s about time we get him out of there, if only so I can fucking clean.”

 

“See?” Kerry says, pointing at Ray, and Miles sighs in defeat, running his free hand through his face in with a look of resignation plastered on his features.

 

“Fine,” he says, straightening up to give them a sullen look. “But if Michael manages to escape, I’m telling him this was all your stupid idea in the first place.”

 

\--

 

 

“I told you the plan’s gonna work,” Kerry chirps from the back seat as they drive downtown to Cockbyte in Miles’ secondhand SUV.

 

“MMMFFRRGH!” Michael’s muffled protests sound from where he sits beside Kerry, hands tied securely behind him, gagged and blindfolded to prevent any attempts of escape. Ray winces from the passenger seat.

 

“Sorry we had to do this bro, but someone’s gotta look out for you,” he says, turning around to shoot his best friend an apologetic look. The hostile silence he receives in reply promises painful, _bloody_ murder.

 

“Are we there yet?” Kerry asks nervously. “I don’t think I’m in a safe position here, to be honest.”

 

“Just a couple of blocks from here, I think,” Miles mutters as he looks around the street for any sign of their destination. “Monty said it’s not too far from the arcade.”

 

“Who the hell is Monty?” Ray asks, confused.

 

“He’s the dude who gave us the tickets,” Kerry answers. “Says he works there, and he’s got these spare passes he doesn’t mind giving around. What a nice guy.” He beams over at Ray, who frowns.

 

“He _works_ there?” He repeats, brow furrowed.

 

“Yeah,” Miles nods, not looking away from the windshield. “I think he’s the bartender, or something. He sounds cool enough to be someone with that kind of job.”

 

“And he’s _really_ great at DDR!” Kerry crows happily. “That’s how we met him, actually. You and Michael should come with us to the arcade more often.”

 

“Obvious man crush aside,” says Ray, “shouldn’t you two be studying for midterms instead of playing around like a bunch of high school geeks? We’re all in the same year, if I remember correctly.”

 

“Ah, whatever,” Kerry shrugs. “Midterm’s not in another three weeks.”

 

Ray rolls his eyes and gets back to watching the road. He spots a brightly-lit sign just a block away from them.

 

“That’s probably us,” he says, pointing to the object, and Miles nods, easing the car into a parking space just in front of the establishment. As soon as they are settled, the boys climb out of the vehicle, Ray and Kerry teaming up for the daunting task of keeping Michael put while Miles leads them to the building’s entrance.

 

Several people are staring at the gaggle of college boys bringing a bound and gagged man into a strip club. Kerry grins and points at a silently fuming Michael.

 

“He’s the birthday boy!” He shouts over the pounding club music.

 

This gets them a lot of strangely amused looks, and one man—dressed in a leather vest and pants, of all things—winks at them lasciviously. Kerry shrinks back beside Miles, starting to look quite unsure.

 

“Um,” he says weakly.

 

Ray and Miles, however, are too busy trying to see where the guest passes line is to pay attention to their surroundings. Miles’ face lightens up when he spots someone near the wide entrance.

 

“Hey—Monty!” He waves over to a man standing beside the bouncer, who smiles and gestures for them to come in. Miles grins back and leads the group into the club.

 

“You made it,” says Monty. Ray takes in the man’s appearance: he’s Asian, with almond eyes highlighted perfectly by black eyeliner, and is wearing a black fitted shirt along with a pair of leather pants. A set of leather cuffs decorates his forearms, and his hair sticks out in gelled spikes.

 

The man notices Ray staring, and gives him a wink. Ray blushes.

 

“S—so, um—” He feels around in his pockets and takes out the VIP passes, handing them over to Monty. “We’re here for...uh...”

 

Miles gives Ray a withering look and turns to fix Monty with a wide smile. “We’re here with our friend, Michael. It’s his birthday, and we thought we should probably come celebrate it here.”

 

Monty seems quite amused, his glittering gaze drifting from Ray to Michael, who is standing quietly beside Kerry, looking very unhappy at his situation.

 

He then nods and turns back to Miles, who is looking at him expectantly.

 

“You came to the right place,” Monty says, and something about his tone sends a shiver down Ray’s spine. He shakes the feeling off, however, thinking that they should probably be getting Michael into a room as soon as possible.

 

He’s right, by the way, because it is at that exact moment when Michael suddenly breaks free from Kerry’s hold and launches himself across the club’s entrance hall, obviously in search of the nearest exit.

 

“Fuck—Michael!” Ray tries to run after him, but Monty grabs his arm and shakes his head, nodding at a large guy who shoots toward Michael and grabs him into a tight hold. Michael tries to escape the bouncer’s clutches, but the man’s grip is iron strong.

 

“We should probably be getting you to your room,” says Monty, raising his eyebrows at the scene. Embarrassed at the stares they’re getting from the rest of the club’s patrons, Ray, Miles, and Kerry all nod frantically.

 

“Yeah, we really probably should,” Miles agrees.

 

—

 

 

“I hope Michael’s okay in there,” says Kerry, sounding concerned. “He didn’t look too happy with our surprise.”

 

“Well, at least he promised to sit still,” says Ray, biting his lip doubtfully. “And he’s probably gonna feel better about it when the stripper comes in.”

 

The three of them are settled around one of the club’s private booths, enjoying the refreshments Monty had called for the moment they stepped inside the general area of the establishment. The atmosphere’s really nice, as far as strip clubs go, and Ray’s starting to feel like maybe this is probably one of the best birthday plans he’s ever thrown.

 

“Hey, where’s the dancer?” Miles asks, brow furrowed as he surveys the empty stage at the center of the room. Monty glances in the direction of Miles’ gaze and frowns.

 

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. “Chris should probably be in here right now.”

 

Ray, who’s been in the process of drinking his can of coke while half-heartedly listening to the conversations, stops and lowers his beverage. “Chris?” he asks.

 

Monty nods. “Yeah. I mean, Gavin’s supposed to be doing the midnight show, but since I already put him in for your friend’s entertainment,” he grins at this, seeming oblivious to everyone else’s expressions of dawning horror, “he’s not gonna make it for the rest of our club’s dear patrons. So yeah, Chris is gonna be filling in for him, just for tonight.”

 

The table grows quiet. A squeak is heard after a couple of seconds, and all the men turn to see Kerry staring, horrified, at a middle-aged man sitting several booths away, looking back at him with the air of a hunter sizing up its delectable prey.

 

“I, uh—” Miles starts to say, but Ray beats him to it.

 

“This—you—you brought us to a _gay strip club?_ ”

 

Monty doesn’t seem fazed. He just shrugs and says, “Yeah, I told you about it when I gave you the tickets. Also, the club’s name is kind of a dead giveaway.”

 

Nobody speaks. Kerry whimpers in his seat. After a few seconds, Ray starts and looks wildly around as if only realizing something.

 

“Oh, fuck me,” he says, voice faint. “Michael’s in that room with another _dude_.”

 

—

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Gavin. A word, please.”

 

Professor Haywood is peering at him from behind his desk, looking quite businesslike as he tucks his laptop and lecture notes into his bag. Gavin pauses from where he’s stowing away his things and nods, swallowing a little. It’s only bloody 10:30 AM and the day’s already looming over him like a thick, grey cloud. Not good, and definitely the last thing Gavin needs, after the past several weeks.

 

“Uh, is there anything wrong, Professor?” he asks as he walks over, trying not to look too anxious.

 

“No need to look like that, Gavin. I’m not about to revoke your scholarship, at least not yet,” says Professor Haywood in an attempt to break the tension, but only succeeds in making Gavin even more nervous as he tries to pass off the glint in his professor’s eye as an effect of the room’s faulty lighting. He stops in front of the desk and keeps silent, wondering what Professor Haywood could possibly want to discuss with him, this time.

 

“Is this about my research application, sir? Because I really am working hard on it, it’s just that—”

 

“Gavin, I didn’t call you over to talk about that,” says Professor Haywood patiently, and Gavin stops his rambling.

 

“So, um, what is it?”

 

Professor Haywood considers Gavin for several, uncomfortable seconds before he lets out a sigh. “Gavin, we need to talk about the issue of your attendance.”

 

 _Oh._ Gavin inwardly cringes at that. He’s been taking in more hours at the club lately, which means less time to sleep and attend early morning classes, just like this one. “Am I…am I blowing off too much?”

 

“I don’t know, you tell me,” says Professor Haywood, raising an eyebrow at him. When Gavin just looks visibly upset at the prospect of failing a major subject simply because of his shoddy attendance, he sighs again and opts for a gentler approach. “Gavin, you know I’m _fully_ aware of your circumstances, right? So if there’s anyone in the faculty who’d be very understanding about your frequent absences, that person would me. _But,_ ” he says, before Gavin could start thanking him profusely, “there is also the very important matter of your class performance. Which, I’m sure you’re aware, counts heavily toward your academic standing by the end of the semester, as well as your post-graduate aspirations.”

 

Gavin hangs his head at that, feeling utterly rubbish as he realizes he hasn’t been quite diligent as he should’ve been, lately. “I’m sorry, Professor,” he mumbles, after a moment. “I’ve been, um, lacking in funds, what with the research equipment and all. I sort of needed to, um, you know, earn a little extra.”

 

He glances up to see that Professor Haywood is frowning, a concerned look taking over his features. The professor leans forward, giving Gavin a full on serious look as he speaks.

 

“Are you having a lot of difficulties with your job? Because we can _always_ tell the—”

 

“No,” Gavin says quickly, and is surprised at his own vehemence. He bites his lip and looks down, shifting a little as he tries to level his voice. “I—I can’t risk it, Professor. I need to go about this the same way I’ve always done. You understand that, right?”

 

Professor Haywood sighs for the third time and leans back in his chair, but he still doesn’t look appeased. He does, however, nod his head in resignation.

 

“I suppose I can’t tell you how to live your life. But _I’m_ your academic adviser, Gavin, and it’s my job to make sure that you’re on the right track, all right? So I need you to do just a bit more, if you want to keep your scholarship, that is.”

 

“I know, sir,” says Gavin miserably, and runs a hand through his hair before giving his professor a tired smile. “I’ll make sure to attend all the classes, this time.”

 

“And coursework,” Professor Haywood adds sternly, but he’s got a warm look in his eyes, like he’s trying to reassure Gavin that no, he’s not mad at all. “I know you do exceptionally well in the exams but I need you to pass all the other requirements too, okay?”

 

Gavin laughs a little at that. Feels just a tad better, knowing that at least one person is rooting for him, this time. “All right, Professor. I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Right,” says Professor Haywood, standing up from his desk and putting away the rest of his things. “Off you go, then.”

 

“Thanks, really,” says Gavin, giving his professor an earnest look before he goes back to pick up his own bag.

 

“And, Gavin,” Professor Haywood’s voice pipes up from behind him, and he turns to see that the man is looking at him with concern again. “Just…be careful, all right? I’d hate to lose any more of my prized students.”

 

Gavin’s smiling this time, because it’s just like Professor Haywood to be like that. Protective, yet so bloody shy about it, like he doesn’t want Gavin to know he’s got a soft bone in his body. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he says, grinning at his professor cheekily. “I’m pretty _flexible,_ remember? I can probably get myself out of any fix.”

 

Professor Haywood groans at that and shoos him off with an exasperated wave of his hand. “God, _kid._ Don’t even joke about that. Get out of my sight, already.”

 

“Okay, Professor,” says Gavin cheerily, and walks out of the room. Making his way to his next class, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, the rest of the day wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

 

—

 

 

As always, Gavin is wrong. He falls asleep right after he comes home from his last lecture, what with working at the club till 4 AM that morning before his first class. The ensuing exhaustion results in him not waking up until less than half an hour before his weekend shift.

 

 _“Shit, bloody buggering shit!”_ He shoots out of bed, rushes into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, pulls on his clothes and makes sure he doesn’t look like crap by checking himself on the bathroom mirror. He does all of this in about fifteen minutes, which leaves him with probably another ten or so to make it to the club on time.

 

“Geoff will fucking murder me,” he groans, grabbing his bag and shooting out of his apartment in hopes of quickly hailing a cab.

 

All in all, it takes him about twenty-three minutes to get to downtown. Yep, Geoff’s definitely gonna hack his head off and bury him in the ground, and that is if the man’s feeling particularly charitable.

 

Muttering darkly under his breath, he pays the cab driver and rushes into the back entrance of the brightly-lit establishment, dodging his co-workers and hoping he’d make it into the dressing room without Geoff getting wind of his presence.

 

When he opens the door to the room, he realizes that it had been too much to hope.

 

“You’re late. _Again_.”

 

Shrugging off his jacket and draping it over his chair, Gavin turns to address the bar manager. He puts on his best puppy-dog look.

 

“C’mon, Geoff. You know how bad my schedule is lately, don’t you?”

 

Geoff rolls his eyes and smacks him upside the head. “You know that look doesn’t work on me, kid.”

 

Gavin pouts. “And here I thought we were mates.”

 

Geoff heaves a put-upon sigh. “I’m your _manager_ , not your _mate_ , which is also why I’m obliged to inform you that you have a client tonight. A birthday boy, if I remember correctly.”

 

Gavin raises his eyebrows. “Any... special requests?”

 

Geoff glares at him. “You know we don’t want you doing any of _that_ stuff, Free. Just... just bring your best game into it, all right? Don’t do anything extra.”

 

Gavin grins and starts changing his clothes. “Got it. No extras, not unless he pays for it.”

 

_“Gavin.”_

 

“Bloody hell— _fine._ No fucking extras.”

 

—

 

 

He takes a breath as he stands in front of the room’s stage door, idly wondering what his client will look like. Probably old with a lot of money to spare—bored enough to be wasting it in a strip club and getting half-assed lap dances from impressionable, young twinks like Gavin. He frowns at the thought and mentally steadies himself.

 

_Now’s not the time to start regretting your life choices, Free._

 

He exhales, counts to five, and pushes the door open. He steps into the dimly-lit room, making sure his gait is catlike and seductive.

 

Gavin can see a man— _young, with curly brown hair_ —sitting alone in the middle of the room, blindfolded, gagged, with hands bound to the chair by loose strings of rope.

 

Even through the low lights, he can see the sweat drops forming on the man’s face as he tries to look at Gavin’s general direction. He doesn’t seem to be the least bit happy with his situation.

 

_Huh._

 

He approaches the man and touches him on the shoulder, noting his sudden intake of breath at the contact. He leans down to whisper at his ear.

 

“You okay there, mate?” Gavin asks. The man bristles at the sound of his voice, and he rolls his eyes at that.

 

“God, well, you’re one straight-acting bloke, aren’t you?” Ignoring the spluttering sounds coming from the man, he proceeds to straddle his lap.

 

Gavin notes his apparent lack of erection and huffs. He should probably try to up his game and give the man the night of his life. It is his _birthday_ , after all.

 

He bites his lip and grinds against the man’s crotch, watching as his throat bobs up and down at the intimate contact.

 

“Do you like that?” he whispers again. A flurry of indignant noises issues from the man’s gag, and he tries to stand up from his seat, almost dislodging Gavin in the process.

 

Miffed at the reaction, Gavin leans down and breathes a cloud of air into the man’s ear, grinding into his lap again as he does so. The guy gasps involuntarily, and Gavin takes that as a good sign.

 

_Let’s see what you look like, then, birthday boy._

 

He pulls at the strip of cloth obstructing the man’s eyes and they both see each other’s faces for the first time. Sitting as close as he is, Gavin can see the low lights being reflected in the man’s brown eyes, and freckles dusting the pale skin around his nose.

 

There is an expression of mounting panic and confusion in the man’s eyes, however, and this makes Gavin stop and consider the situation again.

 

_What the bloody hell is this all about?_

Gavin reaches behind the man to remove his gag. The cloth falls away from his mouth and a stream of profanity flows from the man’s lips.

 

“—I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL THOSE IDIOTS, JESUS FUCKING—“

 

“Wh—why are you all tied up?” Gavin asks, bewildered. The man rolls his eyes at that, looking frustrated.

 

“Why do you think? Because I have idiots for friends, that’s why!”

 

Gavin huffs and runs a hand through his hair. “So this is all a setup?” he asks, suddenly feeling quite tired.

 

“Do you think I’d bring myself to this place? Of course this is a setup!” The man pulls against his bonds again. “Can you—can you untie me from this fucking chair, at least?”

 

Gavin sighs and reaches around to pull at the man’s restraints. He can feel him shift uncomfortably as their chests press flush against each other while he tries to remove the ropes.

 

“Can you stop moving so much?” Gavin snaps while he unties the man. “I’m having a bit of trouble getting these—”

“It’s not my fucking fault your crotch is right up against my—” the man responds, and stops as he realizes what he just said. Gavin freezes and moves back to stare at the man again.

 

“Y—you _like_ this, don’t you?” he says, and shifts his hips against the man’s, grinning when he sees him gasp at the contact.

 

“I _don’t_! I’m—I’m straight, you fucking—”

 

“Yeah, got that the first time,” Gavin retorts, raising his eyebrows as he does. “Still doesn’t explain why there’s a boner pushing up my crotch.” He rotates his hips to emphasize his point, and the man blushes deeply.

 

“That—that isn’t—”

 

“What, you got a gun in there somewhere?” Gavin rolls his eyes and heaves out a sigh. “Listen, it’s all right, yeah? Happens to everyone. Besides, it’s not like you...” he trails to a stop, and stares at the man as he begins to realize something.

 

“What?” the man asks, sounding a bit suspicious.

 

“You know, you’re not that bad-looking,” Gavin says, eyeing him critically. The man sputters indignantly at that.

 

“Of course I’m not! What are you— _hey_! Put your shirt back on!”

 

“Just shut up and let me do you a favor,” Gavin says dismissively. He throws his shirt over to one side of the room, and smiles seductively at the other man. “You’ve got a hard-on the size of bloody Texas in your pants and it’s my job to do something about that, yeah? So just…sit back and relax, birthday boy.”

 

“Listen, I don’t think— _mmph!_ ” The man’s protests are cut off when Gavin leans forward and seizes the man’s lips in a kiss, one hand burying itself in his auburn curls and the other pulling at the remaining bits of string restraining him to the chair.

 

“Your hands are free,” Gavin breathes out when they both resurface for air, panting against each other’s mouths. “You can push me off if you want.” He brings the rope over to the man’s area of vision, and cocks an eyebrow at him.

 

He waits. The man swallows and bites his lip, but does nothing.

 

 _Bingo._ “Well, all right then.” He licks his lips and tosses the rope aside, leaning forward to press a set of kisses across the man’s jaw to his ear. He breathes against his earlobe, and licks at the sensitive skin. He feels the man shiver against him.

 

“You’re the birthday boy here,” he whispers as he sneaks a hand up the man’s shirt, feeling his stomach muscles clench at the touch. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“I—I don’t know…” The man mumbles, apparently reduced to a simpering mess through Gavin’s efforts alone. Somehow, this sends a spark of _want_ in his chest, and Gavin feels himself smile.

 

_Oh bloody— **fuck it**._

 

He puts out an arm where he knew the CCTV would be pointing, and signals to Gus that what he is about to do is very much _okay_.

 

“Well, then,” he whispers, toying at the hem of the guy’s shirt as he did, “I’ll make sure you feel good.”

 

The man’s heart begins to beat wildly against his chest, spurring Gavin on as he kisses down the man’s jaw onto his neck, sucking into the fevered flesh and relishing the man’s groan. He grinds into the man’s erection, and works back up to his ear, licking a stripe on the outer shell and whispering, “You can kiss me, you know.”

 

The man’s hand shoots out, grabbing his hair and pulling him down into a harsh kiss. Gavin moans into his mouth and rubs against his lap, gripping his arm tight as their tongues meet. He grabs one of the man’s hands and guides it down to his ass, liking the way he kneads at the firm globes.

 

Gavin doesn't know if it's the fact that he is the man's first time, or maybe because the guy is cuter than any of the other blokes he's ever had to service, but his heart is beating faster and faster as their kiss turns more passionate. He's liking it, liking the fact that he's the only man in the whole goddamn world who can do this to the mystery bloke.

 

He pulls away to gasp for air, resting his forehead against the man's, and trailing his hand down until he finds the bulge in his crotch. He squeezes at the hardness, and smiles at the man's ensuing gasp.

 

“This one's my birthday present to you,” he pants, and moves to get out of the man's lap.

 

He kneels in front of him, watching as his eyes never leave his own, and reaches out to pull at the zipper of his straining jeans, each click of the teeth causing the man to breathe out air in short, harried gasps.

 

As soon as he manages to free the man's erection, however, the door to the room bursts open, and a small, dark-haired guy comes in, a wild look of worry evident in his eyes. He stares at the spectacle in the middle of the room, his face frozen in an expression of shock.

 

Two men trail after him, both trying to placate the first man. They stop in the entrance of the room as well, falling silent and gaping at where Gavin is kneeling in front of his now mortified-looking customer.

 

“M—Michael, you—” The man tries to speak, but fails, and instead opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish. He gestures helplessly at where his friend is about to get his first blowjob from a male stripper.

 

The customer, whose name is apparently Michael, suddenly stands up from the chair, causing Gavin to fall back on his ass against the tiled flooring.

 

He doesn't speak, doesn't meet Gavin's eyes, doesn't even bother to acknowledge his presence at all as he zips his pants up, trying to be as dignified as possible with a raging erection. It would have been funny if Gavin doesn’t feel quite a bit hurt at the rejection, never mind that it came from nothing more than a stranger—a paying customer at best. Instead, Gavin just picks himself up from the floor, feeling a familiar twist in his stomach as the man proceeds to storm out of the room, knocking his friends aside as he sweeps into the corridor and out of everyone's sight.

 

“Fuck—Michael, wait!” His friends run after him, the taller one of three trailing behind. He turns around and, after a moment of thought, reaches into his pockets. Gavin feels himself stiffen as he sees the man pull out a fifty-dollar bill, walking into the room to hand the money over at him with a sheepish look on his face.

 

“I'm—I'm sorry about that,” he says, biting his lip and blushing a bit at Gavin's shirtless, debauched state. “Here's something for your trouble.”

 

Gavin sets his jaw and meets the man's eyes in a glare. “No thanks,” he sneers, crossing his arms in front of him. “Keep it.” He turns on his heel and, without a backwards glance, walks disgruntledly out of the room and leaves the man staring after him.

 

—

 

 

_Stupid bloody fucking straight college blokes. Fucking **arseholes** with nothing better to do than fucking—_

 

Gavin’s inner monologue of seething anger is interrupted by the fact that he still has to unlock the door to his apartment. He heaves a sigh, remembering that he’s actually home early tonight.

 

Dan’s still out. It’s a Friday, which is Dan’s day off, and his roommate would probably be roaming around trying to hook up with pretty birds in clubs. Gavin’s anger spikes at the thought.

 

 _If he comes in here with one of his girls, I’m gonna put pepper powder on all his underwear._ He stomps into the house and proceeds to flop down on the couch.

 

It’s only about 1 AM, and he already feels like the day’s gone on long enough.

 

_Stupid fucking straight college blokes._

 

He feels around for the remote, grabs it, and turns on the TV. He tries to settle down, but feels listless as he stares at the random reality show currently playing on the screen. Thoughts of that man kissing him like he’s trying to quench an overwhelming thirst threatens to spill from his head, and Gavin tries not to groan out loud.

 

He needs a bloody distraction. Something to do that’ll take his mind off things. He thinks about Dan, wonders if he’s getting home early tonight, if they could… _Bloody fuck._ Gavin doesn’t like the thought of it, using Dan to drown out the image of that man’s eyes staring into him with a deep need. He doesn’t like to think that Dan would probably be less than inclined to oblige him, this time. He’s gone out to score some lay, after all.

 

He ignores the sharp pang in his chest that comes with the thought of Dan kissing another woman under the low lights of a random club, taking her back to her room or a hotel and ravishing her with no thought of whether Gavin had made it home safe from work, or if he’s waiting for him, waiting for that exact same attention he’s giving that beautiful, faceless girl whose name he’s probably not going to remember the day after. Gavin tries not to think about it, doesn’t dwell upon the fact that Dan can’t just be bloody contented with what they have with each other. Because that one’s a slippery slope.

 

School work. Yes, that’s it. Professor Haywood says he’s lagging behind quite a bit due to his extra shifts at the club. Gavin decides that there’s nothing better than fussing over equations and diagrams on his trusty leather journal as a way to occupy his mind. Can’t afford to risk his favorite professor’s wrath by falling behind on his research now, can he?

 

Just as he’s about to stand up and wander into his bedroom to grab his school bag, the door to the flat bursts open. Dan stumbles in, looking quite drunk as he struggles to close the door behind him.

 

“What happened to you?” Gavin asks, bemused.

 

Dan doesn’t reply, and instead staggers into the coat stand. Gavin rushes forward to help his best friend into the living room, settling him down on the couch.

 

Dan turns his head to grin at him. “C'mere, you,” he says, and leans in to nuzzle a few drunk kisses onto his neck. “Missed you at the club, babe. They said you left early.”

 

Gavin rolls his eyes. “First of all, I'm not your _babe,_ ” he says, and then promptly wrinkles his nose. “Second of all, you _reek._ What the hell was Matt giving you before they sent you home?”

 

“Some of this, some of that,” says Dan, shrugging. He leans back a little to furrow his brows at Gavin's annoyed expression. “You're mad, B. What's up?

 

“Nothing you should trouble your sloshed little arse with,” said Gavin sternly, brushing Dan's hair back and checking if he’s going to be sick. “Right. You stay here while I go get you some coffee, all right? You need to sober up.”

 

Dan grabs his arm before he can stand up, and pulls Gavin closer to him. He resumes kissing his neck, a hand trailing down to undo his fly with drunken precision.

 

“Dan, just—” Gavin tries to shrug his friend off, only to find that Dan's grip is iron-strong. Dan's hand proceeds to burrow into his jeans to cup his crotch.

 

“Fuck, B,” he whispers into his ear as he tries to coax Gavin's dick into hardness. “I'm so fucking horny tonight. Can we just—”

 

“Dan, NO!” Gavin manages to push Dan off of him, the other man stumbling back into the couch, looking surprised at his friend's sudden ferocity.

 

“B...” Dan says, sounding a bit hurt. “Why are you being like this?”

 

“Because I don't want to be your _cheap fuck_ , all right?” Gavin spits out, clenching his hands into fists and glaring at his friend. “Do you think you could just—just go out on your day off, fail miserably at hooking up with random chicks, then go back to me expecting I'm gonna be bending over for you like a little bitch? Well you can think again!”

 

“But I never...” Dan’s voice is quiet as his face looks contrite. “I don't think of you that way, Gav.”

 

“Oh, but you do,” Gavin bites out. “That's why you're here with me, yeah? Because I'm _easy._ I'm your stripper mate who'd give out blowjobs for a quid, or even less.” He lets out a wry laugh, feeling some sort of vindication when Dan looks away. “I'm right, aren't I?”

 

Dan is silent for a long time. When he realizes that his friend isn't going to say anything to defend himself—to prove Gavin wrong—his expression twists into something ugly.

 

“Right,” he says, quietly. “I'm gonna go to bed. Don't throw up on the couch.”

 

“Gavin—” Dan tries, but the slamming of his bedroom door is all his best friend gives him in reply.

 

—


	4. Chapter 4

That morning, Gavin wakes up feeling warm and safe.

 

He gives himself a couple of moments to get over the general feeling of disorientation when he realizes that he is _not alone_ in the bed.

 

A pair of strong arms is wrapped around him, and someone is breathing hot air over his neck in long, sleepy pulls. It doesn't take him three guesses to figure out who it is.

 

He stiffens, and then tries to wriggle out of Dan's tight embrace. Dan lets out a protesting noise and snuggles closer into the covers. Gavin grimaces and turns around with some difficulty, finding himself face to face with his sleeping best friend.

 

Still angry at last night's incident, it doesn't take him long to decide on putting out one hand to hold Dan's nose until the man sputters awake, pulling away from him to gasp for air.

 

“Fuck!” Dan exclaims, voice still hoarse from sleep. He rubs blearily at his eyes and shakes himself awake. He turns to give Gavin an indignant look. “What was that all about?”

 

“How'd you get in my room?” is all Gavin asks, still glaring at him. Dan bites his lip and looks sheepish.

 

“Picked the lock,” he mumbles at the ceiling. Miffed, Gavin reaches out and twists his nipple harshly.

 

“Fucking hell, B!” Dan writhes from the touch, slapping his hand away and rubbing at the offended flesh soothingly. “Don't damage the goods!”

 

“You should be grateful I'm not damaging _you_ ,” Gavin growls. “Who gave you the right to sneak in, anyway?”

 

Dan glances at him and looks away, a blush coloring his cheeks as he speaks. “I just—I'm sorry, all right? For last night.”

 

Gavin considers him for a moment. “You remember it?” he asks disbelievingly.

 

Dan scoffs. “How can I not? I wasn't _that_ drunk. I was just...”

 

“You were just what?”

 

Dan shrugs. “Being stupid, I guess,” he mumbles quietly. “I didn't actually go out to meet chicks, you know.”

 

Gavin's mouth forms into a thin line. “Dan, you don't have to—”

 

“I want to, all right? Hear me out.” Dan takes a deep breath and speaks, still staring up at Gavin's ceiling. “I was—I was sloshed, I admit it. Matt gave me one too many.”

 

Gavin is going to have a talk with the bartender one of these days.

 

“But I didn't drink because I was rejected by a _bird_ ,” says Dan, hands fumbling with Gavin's covers as he speaks. “I—I saw you. In the room. With that bloke.”

 

Gavin's cheeks color at the statement. “What—how did you—”

 

“I was checking on you, all right?” Dan says defensively. “Heard there was this uni bloke who wanted to have you alone in the rooms. I was worried.”

 

“You don't _have_ to be worried,” says Gavin.

 

“But I _was,_ ” Dan says insistently. “I mean, they're college blokes. Probably straight-acting as fuck. Didn't want you doing things you didn't want to be doing, all right? Wanted to keep an eye on you in case they started doing something funny.”

 

Gavin resists the urge to roll his eyes. Dan is one to talk. “How many times do we have to talk about this, Daniel? I'm _fine,_ all right? I can take care of myself. I'm a _bloke_ too, or haven't you noticed?”

 

“Trust me, I know that very well.” Dan sends him a playful grin, which promptly sobers up at the look on Gavin's face. “What I meant was, I _know_ you can take yourself, but sometimes I feel like you don't want to.”

 

At that, Dan's face grows troubled. He looks down Gavin's sheets, which he bunches in his palms. “I saw you,” he says, quietly, “that night. With that boy. You were—you were _intimate._ ”

 

Gavin swallows. He doesn't need to be reminded of this _at all._

 

“I was expecting you to simply do a dance or something,” Dan continues, sounding small and insecure in Gavin's bed. “But you didn't. You were—you were gonna _blow_ him, B.”

 

Gavin bristles. “That's—that's entirely part of the job,” he says defensively, but Dan shakes his head.

 

“No, it's not,” says Dan. “You didn't have to do any of that, but you did. If Burnie was there, he would've pulled you out of the room, quick as that. Geoff was pacing a hole through the floor, himself.”

 

Gavin grows quiet. Dan lets out a small laugh as the silence stretches on.

 

“No one's ever been able to tell you what to do, Gav,” he says. “That night wasn't an exception. You _liked_ that guy, yeah?”

 

Gavin takes a breath. “Look—”

 

“I’m your best mate. I can always tell when you’re smitten,” Dan interrupts him. “Although how you managed that after just five minutes with the man, I’ll never know.”

 

Gavin swallows. He turns and faces Dan, who is still lying on his back, his face a grim mask as he stares determinedly into the ceiling.

 

“That didn’t mean anything,” he says softly.

 

“I know,” Dan replies, not looking at him.

 

Biting his lip, Gavin reaches over to wrap an arm around Dan’s torso, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

 

“I got rejected,” he mutters into the sleep-warm skin, feeling his friend sigh as he snuggles closer. “The guy didn’t want me, anyway. He ran off as soon as his friends saw us.”

 

“He’s an idiot,” Dan says.

 

Gavin chuckles. “Yeah, he is,” he says. “He missed out on the best blowjob he’s ever gonna get.”

 

Dan turns, looking into Gavin’s eyes with a frown on his face. “I really don’t like you handing out blowjobs to random blokes, you know.”

 

Gavin raises his eyebrows. “Why not? I’m good at it.”

 

Dan’s expression darkens at that. Gavin sighs, and reaches over to press a kiss onto the corner of his lips.

 

“I was just kidding, you wanker,” he whispers into Dan’s ear, a hand trailing down to grasp his best friend’s morning wood. “Stop throwing a bitch fit, yeah?”

 

Dan growls and turns over to pin Gavin on the bed, meeting the man’s playful stare with his own lust-filled gaze. “If I could just keep you here, I would. I could get a decent-paying job and you wouldn’t have to strip anymore.”

 

Gavin rolls his eyes and hooks his leg around Dan’s, arching his hips up to grind against the man’s erection. He watches and smirks as Dan’s eyes flutter shut at the contact.

 

“I keep telling you—I’m not gonna quit stripping, alright? But I’m not gonna sleep with other people, either. Not if you don’t.”

 

Dan opens his eyes and leans down to kiss Gavin, their hard lengths rubbing together through the flimsy barriers of their boxers. When they both resurface for air, Dan reaches out a hand to rub against his best friend’s swollen lip, his gaze burning, and says:

 

“I’ve always been yours, B. Or haven’t you been paying attention?”

 

—

 

 

In an effort to avoid speaking with Ray about the incident in the club, Michael has taken to leaving early in the morning and coming back to the dorms late at night.

 

Ray, for his part, has apparently decided that he’s done enough to ensure Michael’s enduring humiliation for the next century and doesn’t needle his best friend about what had transpired.

 

Even though Michael can see him just _itching_ to ask what on earth happened in that small room while they were away.

 

Not that he’s going to tell the douchebag anything. If it’s up to Michael (which, well, it certainly _is_ ), that incident is going to be stowed away and locked up in the furthest corner of their brains as a testament to just how _fucked up_ a man can get if dumped by his girlfriend of five years.

 

Ray will just have to mind his own business from now on.

 

That Monday, Michael comes to one of the early morning classes he’s been blowing off for the first part of the semester.

 

The professor, a tall, heavyset man with light brown hair and a pleasant expression permanently plastered on his face, doesn’t even call him out on coming to class for only the third time ever.

 

 _Sweet,_ Michael thinks, and promptly drops himself onto one of the seats near the back. It only takes him a brief moment of staring at blackboards full of equations and formulas to realize that he has absolutely _no_ idea what part of the syllabus the class is tackling in this lecture.

 

_I guess I’ll have to see if anybody took down notes, then._

 

He leans forward and taps the guy sitting in front of him, who is busily writing down various principles and drawing diagrams in his huge class binder.

 

The man turns, a bit bemused at being interrupted from his avid listening. “Yeah?”

 

Michael tries to look as friendly as possible. “Hey, I was wondering if—”

 

_BANG!_

 

The door of the lecture hall bursts open and a man stumbles in, knocking into a couple of chairs in the process. The ensuing racket causes everyone in the class to turn and stare.

 

_“Of all the bloody—”_

 

A man with tousled brown hair stands at the back of the room, a sheepish expression plastered on his face as he tries to rearrange the chairs. Something about him makes Michael do a double-take.

 

As soon as he does, a series of events plays across his vision, ending with that humiliating scene in the strip club with that—that _man._

 

Who is apparently the same person as this guy in his Special Relativity class.

 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

 

“I’m—I’m really sorry,” says the man as he arranges the seats into a neat row. His accent resonates sharply across the room, reminding Michael of how he whispered naughty things into his ear that night in the club. “I was just—”

 

“Take your seat, Mr. Free,” says Professor Haywood, cutting into the oncoming stream of apologies.

 

“R—right.” The man nods awkwardly and takes one of the remaining empty seats in the room. The professor gives him a resigned look, as if this is something that happens all the time, and proceeds to resume the class.

 

For the rest of the lecture, Michael continues to sneak glances at the brown-haired man at the back of the room. He watches as the man reaches into his bag and pulls out a binder—an honest-to-god lecture notes binder, for Christ’s sake—and starts taking down notes like a pro. He’s nodding and writing everything down as if a lecture on simultaneity in multiple inertial frames of reference is something that should make sense at nine o-fucking-clock in the morning.

 

Michael is _seriously_ confused as fuck.

 

He’s suddenly aware of the class ending when the rest of the students begin to stand up from their seats. Professor Haywood calls through the noise and flurry of movement.

 

“Don’t forget our exam next week, people. We’ll be covering chapters nine to thirteen of your textbook. I’m not saying you need to study, but I’ll be looking forward to seeing which of you are crying to yourselves in the lecture hall come test day.”

 

“Jesus,” Michael whispers to himself, momentarily forgetting the brown-haired man’s presence as he begins to worry about how he’s supposed to pass the exam when he hasn’t learned anything in the first place. He’s debating on whether to ask for an extra credit assignment or not when someone brushes past him on the way to the lecture hall dais.

 

He turns and sees the guy from the strip club talking to the professor.

 

“...I’m almost done working out the details of my proposal, but I’ve sort of run into some problems,” he can hear the man say as he remains in the classroom under the pretense of rearranging stuff in his bag. “I was wondering if you could spare the time for a consultation about it.”

 

There is a brief pause in which Professor Haywood seems to be thinking. “I have some time now. Tell me a few details about it and I’ll see if I can help you.”

 

“Well, um,” the man sounds a bit unsure. “I’m really having trouble with the sampling and processing data bit. I should—I don’t have a copy of my proposal right now, but I could probably give it—”

 

“Gavin, I’m an optical physicist. The last fifteen years of my research have been focused on the theory of electromagnetic diffraction,” Professor Haywood interjects. “I’m probably not the best person for this kind of help. If you want to ask someone about how to best record your data, you should try to find an engineering professor in signal processing.”

 

He can almost _hear_ the man—Gavin—pouting. “But I _can’t_ just ask the other professors, Sir. You know that.”

 

Professor Haywood sighs. “You can find a female professor to help you out, you know.”

 

Gavin is quiet for a moment. “Do you think Professor Zuelch would be willing to help?”

 

Michael sneaks a glance at the dais. Professor Haywood has a fond look on his face, like Gavin is a precocious little kid asking if his show-and-tell performance earned him a gold star. The man smiles and starts putting away his things into his bag.

 

“You’re one of the best students in the department, Gavin. I’m pretty sure Kathleen would never refuse to help out a young man like you. Drop by her office sometime during the day—I’ll be sure to tell her about the situation at hand.”

 

—

 


	5. Chapter 5

Michael wonders just exactly how he ended up following a gay strip club dancer down the halls of his own university, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible just in case said dancer starts to get wind of the fact that he’s being pursued.

 

The last thing Michael wants to happen is for Gavin to turn around and discover that the guy who ran out on him in a fit of gay panic is now following him around like some of his creepier clientele. Michael’s been embarrassed enough for the past couple of months since he and Lindsay broke up; he doesn’t need that adding to his long, _long_ list of devastating life encounters, thank you very much.

 

Which should be enough reason for him to just fucking _leave the man alone_ and go find someplace else he should probably be at this time of day.

 

His thoughts are interrupted when Gavin suddenly takes a sharp turn into a narrower corridor leading to the Quantum Electronics and Optics Department.

 

 _Fuck._ Michael hurries after the man, skidding to a halt and hiding behind the corner as he spots Gavin standing stock still in front of an office door. The man seems to be deep in thought. He’s biting his lip and fidgeting with the strap of his mail bag with one hand. His other hand is suspended in front of the door, frozen in mid-knock.

 

 _What the hell is he waiting for?_ Michael thinks, confused.

 

Gavin closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, before proceeding to knock on the door. A distant, muffled, “Come in,” sounds through the corridor, and Michael sees Gavin turn the knob to walk into the office.

 

_Beep! Beep!_

 

Michael’s phone sounds in his pocket. He curses in a whisper and reaches for the gadget, unlocking it to find a message from Miles.

 

**_Going to the bar with the others tonight. Wanna come with?_ **

 

He frowns and wonders if he should come. It hasn’t been a week yet since the incident, and it would be really awkward to pretend like his closest friends didn’t see him almost getting sucked off by a dude just last Friday. How is he supposed to act around the guys now?

 

Just as he is about to text back with a vague alibi, his phone lights up and chirps in his grasp. He can see Miles’ name on the display.

 

 _Shit, shit._ He answers the call on the fifth ring.

 

“Yeah?”

 

_“Are you coming tonight or what?”_

 

“Well, uh—”

 

_“You know, Ray says we should probably leave you alone for the time being, but I get the feeling you’re probably **this** close to doing something stupid yet again. So yeah, this is me being a good friend and stepping in.”_

 

Michael frowns, because Miles is one to talk. “Miles, I don’t think you’re in a— _oof!_ ”

 

A person walks into him just as he steps past the corner, stemming the flow of angry ranting he’s about to throw at his friend. Michael turns to glare at the intrusion, and finds himself face to face with Gavin Free, who is staring back at him with a gobsmacked expression on his face.

 

“Y—you’re...”

 

_“...Michael, are you still there?”_

 

He lowers the phone, ignoring Miles’ muffled voice over the line as he stands frozen in front of Gavin, his insides twisting unpleasantly as he struggles to find a way to explain his presence to the surprised man.

 

“I—uh...” He finally gives up, stuffing his phone into his pocket and heaving a sigh. A blush colors his cheeks as he runs his hand through his hair in an attempt to placate his own nervousness. “H—hi?”

 

—

 

 

_You’ve **got** to be kidding me._

 

Gavin stares at the man in front of him, wondering how on _earth_ he managed to stumble upon him, of all people, in this freaking university. In the place where nobody—aside from Professor Haywood, that is—knows the _other_ part of his life.

 

The part which, if discovered, would definitely ruin his chances for a research fellowship _and_ grad school admission.

 

_Bloody fucking hell._

 

“H—hi?” The man says uncertainly. What’s his name, again? Mark—Mike— _Michael._ That’s right, Michael.

 

Gavin takes in the man’s backpack and university jacket, and feels the sudden urge to punch himself in the face.

 

“You study here,” he says, faintly. Michael gives a start and nods, looking quite flustered.

 

“Y—yeah,” he says, staring down at his shoes. “Computer engineering major. I’m—I’m in my senior year.”

 

“Oh.” Gavin coughs and looks away. “That’s...that’s great.”

 

Michael seems to be considering something, judging by the way he’s biting his lip. “What about you?” he asks eventually.

 

“I’m—uh...” Gavin wonders if he should be telling the man anything about himself at all. _Oh, fuck it._ “I’m a Physics major. Senior year too.”

 

Michael clears his throat. “Yeah I, uh, I figured. I’m in your Special Relativity class.”

 

Gavin gapes at him. “And you _didn’t_ recognize me in the club?” He sees Michael wince at the statement, and his irritation flares. “I don’t believe this. You’re a special kind of nutter, aren’t you?”

 

Michael looks offended. “I haven’t been to that class a lot, all right? Besides, it’s not like you’re that remarkable. I wouldn’t have remembered your face even if I’ve gone there the past couple of months.”

 

Gavin scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. You didn’t seem to think that the last time we saw each other.” He takes in Michael’s blushing expression, and something clicks into place.

 

“Were you—have you been following me around?” He demands, and Michael starts to sputter.

 

“I—I wasn’t—”

 

“You totally _were_!” Gavin lets out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “What, were you planning to cash in on that blowjob? The one you ran out on? ‘Cause, just so you know, the offer’s already expired, yeah? It’s not even part of the package.”

 

Michael bristles. “Oh, aren’t you full of yourself?” he sneers. “I didn’t _ask_ for any of that. It’s your friend’s fucking—”

 

“I talked to Monty, and you were right—you have a bunch of idiots for friends,” Gavin cuts him off, and crosses his hands in front of his chest. “You lot actually thought we were a _straight_ strip club!” He laughs unkindly, ignoring the indignant expression on Michael’s face, and added, “Of all the bloody—”

 

“Listen, you were the one throwing yourself at me, all right?” Michael says angrily. “I was telling you to untie me so I could leave, but all you did was fucking _rut_ at me like a—like a—”

 

“Like a _whore_?” Gavin raises an eyebrow at him. Michael actually has the decency to look ashamed. Gavin sighs and decides to let it go. He speaks quietly, “Well, fair enough. But I seem to remember that I _did_ untie the ropes for you, and you _didn’t leave._ You kissed me back, you know.”

 

He waits for Michael to answer, to at least say something to defend himself, but nothing came.

 

_Just as I thought._

Gavin nods and gives him a wry smile. “Are we done? Because, uh, I’ve got some things I need to be doing.”

 

When Michael remains silent, he shrugs and turns to walk away. “I’ll see you around, I guess,” he adds half-heartedly before he leaves.

 

“W—wait.” He stops at Michael’s voice and turns back around expectantly. The man looks pained, as if he’s trying very hard to say something.

 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Michael says, sounding very quiet and looking anywhere but at him. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to run out on you. It’s just that—”

 

Gavin lets out a small chuckle. “Believe it or not, I understand,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t a bit hurt when you did.”

 

Michael looks up at that, seeming a bit caught off-guard. “You weren’t—you weren’t _bad_ , you know.” He suddenly realizes what he’s just said, and blushes deeply. “I mean—uh—”

 

“So you _did_ like it,” Gavin says teasingly, and grins when Michael sputters at his statement. “All right, all right, I’m not gonna take the piss.” He bites his lip and gives the man a coy look. “So, uh, are you planning to make up for it?”

 

“You said you weren’t gonna—”

 

“I _mean,_ I’m gonna go have lunch ‘cause I’m starving,” Gavin clarifies, now grinning widely, “and you’re gonna buy it for me, as an apology.”

 

“Oh.” Michael nods and blinks, sounding quite relieved. “Oh, um.” He seems to think about it for a moment, in which Gavin begins to regret his proposition.

 

“You don’t really have to—”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Michael interjects, sounding shy as he adjusts his beanie and smiles at Gavin from under his messy fringe. “I’d—I’d like to take you out to lunch, if you’re okay with that.”

 

\--

 

 

“So, uh, Michael,” Gavin says, a curious expression on his face as they sit in a deli a couple of blocks away from the engineering building. “Why were you following me around?”

 

Michael chokes on his iced tea and lowers the beverage, his face coloring at the question. “I, uh…”

 

“I mean, it’s a real shame you passed on my offer of a blowjob, but really, I don’t think—”

 

“Jesus! Could you try speaking a bit louder? I don’t think everyone in the shop heard you,” Michael hisses as he looks around for any sign of people he might know. Gavin grins and takes a bite from his sandwich.

 

“You might’f wurl tell mer,” he says as he chews on the mouthful of food, seeming unconcerned at the disgusting display he’s putting on.

 

Michael glares at him and looks away. “I was…I heard about your fellowship application, all right?” He glances at Gavin to see the man pause mid-chew, looking a bit taken aback. “I was there when you talked to the professor about it.”

 

Gavin thankfully swallows his food and frowns over at him. “You’re eavesdropping on my conversations, now? Well, aren’t you a piece of work?”

 

“I didn’t mean to, okay?” Michael says defensively. “I was just gonna talk to the professor, but you beat me to it.” He trails off, and wonders if he should ask Gavin about _it._ Oh well, they’re way past shying around each other now, aren’t they? “Listen… are you—are you serious about applying for that scholarship?”

 

He watches as an offended expression starts to take over Gavin’s face, and tries to add in a placating tone, “I mean—”

 

“I get it. You think I’m not _smart enough_ for that sort of stuff, don’t you?” Gavin huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Figures.”

 

“No, you don’t understand,” Michael struggles to explain before Gavin gets up and leaves. “I just—I just wonder: why are you still doing… _that_ if you’re this _smart?”_

Gavin raises his eyebrows at him and crosses his arms, but at least he isn’t leaving. “It’s bloody simple, isn’t it? I need money.”

 

Michael stares at him. “So work in a fucking Gamestop or something! Why the hell are you turning tricks for a living when there are other things you could do?”

 

Gavin’s mouth drops open, and he shakes his head with a scoff, like he can’t believe Michael’s words. He looks quite angry and upset, but Michael can’t bring himself to care. He needs the man to help him understand _this._

 

After a short moment of miffed silence, Gavin speaks. “I _owe_ people a lot, Michael. I don’t bloody know what kind of sheltered childhood you probably had, but in real life people actually have things they can’t do anything about, all right? This is one of those things. So you might as well wrap your head around that idea and—and _fuck off._ ” He wipes his mouth with a napkin and reaches into his bag for something. Michael’s eyes widen when he sees Gavin pull out a tattered leather wallet.

 

“Gavin, don’t—”

 

He’s interrupted by the sound of Gavin’s hand slamming on the formica table. The man pulls his hand away, and he sees a ten dollar bill on the surface where it’s been.

 

“Thanks for lunch,” Gavin sneers as he grabs his bag and stands up from their booth. “But there are places I need to be.”

 

Michael opens his mouth to say something, but Gavin is already storming out the door and into the sunlit street.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, and runs a hand through his hair. _Way to go Jones, fucking scared him off right there._

He stares at the money in front of him, wondering if he should chase after Gavin and make him take it back.

 

_Jesus fucking Christ._

He places his own money on the table and snatches up the ten dollars, moving out of the booth to run after Gavin. But before he makes it to the door, one of the waitresses yells at him.

 

“Sir—wait!”

 

“Listen, I don’t have—” He turns around impatiently, only to be greeted by a thick, hard-bound journal almost pressed under his nose.

 

“Your friend left this,” says the waitress, panting as she thrusts the notebook over at Michael, who takes it in surprised silence. “He probably dropped it on the way out.”

 

“Thanks,” Michael says, brow furrowing as he stares at the journal in his hands. “I, uh…I’ll make sure he gets it back.”

 

He smiles gratefully at the woman and turns back to look wildly around the streets for any sign of Gavin.

 

But, as luck would have it, the man is nowhere to be seen.

 

\--


	6. Chapter 6

The journal is well used, with terrible scratchy handwriting filling up over half the pages. Michael flips through it, and what he can read in it is barely comprehensible to him. He sees crazy equations with all sorts of Greek letters that he’s not even completely sure are real. Some pages are literally just filled with algebra going all the way down, but with weird things scattered throughout like square and angle brackets and vertical bars. Some pages were pictures and diagrams, with some kind of lens-looking thing appearing repeatedly with some absolutely crazy looking vector diagrams beside them. It practically makes Michael want to throw the thing across the room, makes his head spin from a complete lack of comprehension.

 

The only thing Michael can really process is that Gavin has to have written literally everything in this thing. He can hardly believe this guy is real.

 

Michael tucks the journal back in his jacket pocket and orders a beer from the tall, blond bartender, who nods good-naturedly and slides a chilled bottle over the marbled surface of the bar’s counter. He takes it with a nod of thanks and tips it back to take a drink, feeling a headache coming on.

 

The loud club music isn’t doing anything to help Michael feel better about his decision to return Gavin’s journal that night, but from what he’s seen from its contents, it looks like the man needs it for his fellowship application.

 

And contrary to what Gavin might believe, Michael’s not a cold-hearted prick. He does actually _want_ the man to get that scholarship, strip club dancer or not.

 

Which is why he’s braving Cockbyte for the second time in a week, sitting stock still in one of the bar stools and shifting uncomfortably whenever another man so much as _looks_ at him.

 

Because, Jesus _fuck_ , he’s not _gay_ enough for all these shit.

 

Scratch that. He’s not gay _at all_ , misguided birthday make-out session with a particular strip club dancer notwithstanding.

 

He frowns at his thoughts and takes another drink from his beer, wondering if he should order something a lot stronger before he actually bails. Because he’s a Nice Guy and Gavin probably really needs his journal back.

 

He refuses to consider the idea that he’s using this as an excuse to see the man again.

 

“Can you—Can you bring me a shot of whisky, please?” He flags the bartender, who raises an eyebrow at him and proceeds to pour the drink.

 

“Rough night?” he asks as he slides the shot over at Michael.

 

“You could say that,” Michael grunts, before gulping down the bitter liquid and grimacing at the taste.

 

“Need any more?” the bartender asks him. He nods, face still scrunched up, and pushes the glass back at the man.

 

“Make it double,” Michael says, and the bartender chuckles.

 

“Don’t get drunk too quickly. You’ll miss the best part of the show.”

 

This perks Michael’s ears up. “Which is…?”

 

The bartender nods his head at the clock. “It’s not even twelve o’clock yet. Come midnight, our best dancers are going to come on stage, and you’re gonna be too piss-drunk to see it. So stick to beer for a while, all right?”

 

“Hey Matt,” a guy says as he slides over beside Michael. He’s dressed in a pair of leather pants and nothing else, with a smattering of something like glitter all over his bare chest. He gives Michael a glance, and turns on his stool, seeming interested.

 

“Looks like we’ve got a cute one over here,” he says, and Michael tries not to sputter.

 

“I—uh—”

 

“Relax, dude, I’m not hitting on you. Well, not if you want me to.” The guy winks, and Michael blushes deeply.

 

“Ease up, Chris,” says Matt, chuckling. Chris rolls his eyes and turns back to face the bartender.

 

“God, _fine._ Give me a gin and tonic.”

 

“Still doing some dancing, eh?” Matt says sympathetically as he proceeds to pour the requested beverage.

 

Chris sighs. “Well, what can I say? A lad’s gotta work.” He accepts the drink and takes a huge gulp. “Me and Jordan gotta go back up there once Monty and Gavin are done working the stage.”

 

Michael freezes in his seat, and lowers the beer bottle he’d been trying to drink from in an attempt to placate his own nerves. Matt notices this, as all bartenders apparently do.

 

“You know one of them?” he asks Michael, and Chris looks back at him, curious.

 

“I, uh, I know Gavin,” Michael replies warily.

 

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” says Chris, his grin turning into some sort of a leer that scares Michael more than he’d like to admit. “I mean, Gavin’s great, and Monty’s like, fucking sex on stage, but when those two dance together? God, you should see the men. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone without a boner in the room.”

 

Michael’s eyes widen at this, and he turns back to stare at Matt for clarification.

 

“I try to look away when they dance,” says Matt, shrugging. “It’s hard to serve the customers full mast, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Jesus,” Michael says weakly, and gestures at the shot glass still laying empty on the counter surface. “Any chance I could get more of that whisky?”

 

Matt huffs disapprovingly but pours him a shot all the same.

 

“Thanks,” Michael says, and quickly downs the drink.

 

“Oh, look! It’s finally them,” he hears Chris say excitedly. He puts the glass down to look over at the stage. The lights are completely dimmed, and Michael can barely make anything out on the raised platform. He suddenly realizes that everyone else in the club is waiting with bated breath.

 

_Just how exactly are they—_

His thoughts are interrupted when the spotlight comes on the stage, showing two men clad in black leather somewhat similar to what Chris is wearing, both leaning on one metal pole standing at the center of the platform. He recognizes the taller one as Gavin, his sandy hair shining brightly under the light, his chest rising and falling steadily against the press of the shorter, black-haired man, whom Michael supposes is Monty.

 

A slow, dark melody starts playing, the tone stark against the awed silence that has taken over the crowd, and the dancers begin to move. Monty writhes against Gavin, his hands running intimately across various parts of his body as he raises a leg and wraps it around the pole, bringing his crotch closer to the other man’s. Gavin guides him with both hands placed firmly on his waist, and Michael can see even through the hazy lights the look of passionate intent that has taken over his face as he does.

 

The spark of jealousy that instantly runs across his spine hits Michael with the force of a speeding truck.

 

He has no time to contemplate this, however, because Monty is still _moving_ , his lips dangerously close to Gavin’s collarbone as he reaches up a hand to grab his hair and pull his head back until his neck muscles are bared for everyone to see. The melody stops and they stop moving, both men panting against each other while everyone else watches the spectacle without so much as a sound.

 

Michael wants to go up there and _tear_ Gavin away from that pole—away from Monty, but he sits glued to the bar stool, his eyes not leaving the sight of him flush against another man, looking like a fucking sex god straight out of that porno he’ll _never_ admit to watching a couple of summers ago when Lindsay had been out of town to visit her parents for a few days. He watches as the music comes back, this time quicker, and more than a simple, velvety tone, which gives both men more leeway to work the stage, grinding against each other like there isn’t anyone watching. Like this is something they’ve been doing for quite a while.

 

His hand tightens its grip against the shot glass, and he forces himself to calm down.

 

_This is none of your business, Jones. You brought yourself here, so you might as well—_

“You’re gonna break it.” A voice cuts through his thoughts and he turns around sharply to see Matt staring at him, eyebrows raised. He coughs and releases the glass, the blush on his face deepening as he does.

 

“S—sorry,” he says sheepishly, and tries to avoid Matt’s piercing stare.

 

“Oh Christ, you’re one of _those_ guys _,_ aren’t you?” He blanches when Matt takes the glass away and gives him a serious look. “Listen, man, you gotta think straight, all right? Gavin _works_ here. That thing you see up there?” He jerks his head at the stage, where Monty seems to be mouthing on Gavin’s leather-clad thigh as he runs his hand up the man’s bare chest, both of them still moving impossibly in-sync with the music. Michael gapes at the sight, momentarily pulled away from the conversation.

 

“ _Jesus—_ listen!” Matt snaps his hand in front of Michael’s face and brings him back to reality. “That _show_? That’s his _job,_ all right? He gets paid to do that shit. So it’s not up to _you_ to whisk him away to whatever future you think is better for him. Besides, he’s got a boyfriend.” He watches as all color drains from Michael’s face at his words. “What—you surprised? He’s a fine piece of ass. Of course he’s got himself a man.”

 

“Who is also one of the club bouncers,” Chris adds, tearing himself from the show and deciding that this conversation is more interesting. “Seriously, dude. Don’t try anything. Dan’s gonna beat your face in if you do.”

 

“I—I think I’m gonna…” Michael stands up from the bar stool, feeling like he’s going to be sick. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

 

He rushes away from the bar, completely ignoring Matt and Chris’ exchange of knowing looks as he unsteadily makes his way to the neon bathroom sign on the far corner of the room. He enters the small corridor and makes a beeline for the door, stumbling inside the dank room to see that it is empty.

 

Apparently everyone in the club is outside to watch Gavin and Monty have pseudo-sex on stage.

 

He stumbles to the sink and opens the tap, splashing his face with water to get rid of the feeling of disorientation. As soon as he’s calmed down enough to not feel like the world is spinning around him, he raises his head and stares his own reflection in the mirror.

 

He fucking looks like shit.

 

 _What are you doing here, Michael?_ he asks himself, wishing that the ground would swallow him up instead because _Jesus fucking Christ_ isn’t he too old to have a crush on a fucking stripper, of all things?

 

Who is also a _dude_ , thank you very much for that.

 

He’s jerked from his thoughts when the door suddenly opens and another man comes in, and he stops at the sight of Michael in front of the bathroom mirror. He has tattoos running up and down his arms and a light beard on his face, but more importantly, he is glaring at Michael with the air of someone who’d very much like to punch him in the face.

 

Michael straightens up and blinks at the man through his reflection. “Um.”

 

“What are you doing here?” the man demands, walking closer to him. Michael turns around to look at the man head on and boy, he _didn’t_ look friendly. “You’re—you’re that guy in the VIP room last Friday, aren’t you?”

 

“So what if I am?” Michael snaps, because he is seriously in no mood to take shit from anyone else that day. He’s in the middle of a fucking sexuality crisis, for Christ’s sake.

 

“Why. The fuck. Are you here?” The man punctuates each statement with another step in his direction, and Michael takes a step back until he feels himself pressed against the cold tile of the bathroom counter. He swallows and tries to look menacing in front of the man.

 

“Listen here—”

 

“Are you here to mess with Gavin again?” the man says, sounding quite threatening as he looms above Michael. “Because I’m going to throw your ass out on the street, make no mistake.”

 

That’s the last straw for Michael, apparently. “Jesus fucking—no, all right? I’m here to give him something. You know what, just—” He rummages around in his jacket and pulls out Gavin’s journal from his inner pocket, handing the notebook over to the surprised man. “Just give him that for me, if you’re all so against me just fucking talking to him or whatever. Tell him—tell him he left it over at the deli.” He takes a breath, and wonders if he trusts the man enough to pass on another message. “And uh. That I’m really sorry about what I said.”

 

He doesn’t give the man any chance to reply, instead just sidesteps him and rushes out of the bathroom, walking through the club hall until he can make out the building’s exit.

 

As soon as he makes it out onto the cold street, he sighs and wraps his jacket tighter around himself, wishing that he’d been smart enough to just fucking wait until their next Relativity class.

 

Because this? Is so not fucking worth it.

 

\--

 

 

**_Come on, dude. It’s about time you hang out with the guys again. I know we were being idiots last week but can we at least talk about this?_ **

****

Michael glares at the message on his phone screen, wondering if he should text Miles back with a well-deserved _FUCK YOU_ in huge, blocked out letters, and if that would be enough to dissuade the rest of his friends from trying to seek him out at least for the time being. Not bothering to stop in his brisk walk toward the stairway at the end of the large university hallway, he taps on the message box and begins typing out the words.

 

He’s already halfway through it when his foot suddenly lands on something most definitely _not_ a part of the wooden parquet flooring, which causes him to slip, arms pin-wheeling in an attempt to find purchase (to no avail), and fall ass-first on the cold, hard surface.

 

“FUCK!” he yells, gingerly trying to stand up from his position on the floor, but it seems like his legs are not cooperating. “Jesus fucking—what the _fuck_ was that?!”

 

He looks around for the cause of the accident, and finds a mid-sized remote-controlled toy car sitting in front of him in unapologetic silence. He glares at the thing, his temper flaring, and shouts again.

 

“Whose fucking toy is this?!”

 

“Sorry! Oh my god, I’m really sorry, I—” A familiar voice sounds from somewhere around him, and he sees a set of jean-clad legs approach where he sits. He looks up to see Gavin staring back at him, holding a remote control on one hand and wearing an astonished expression on his face.

 

“M—Michael?” His surprise changes into sheepishness, and he holds out a hand for him to take. “Are you all right?”

 

“Never better,” Michael groans, and takes the proffered arm.

 

“I’m sorry about that. I was being careful, I really was, but then I got distracted by—” Gavin huffs and tries to search Michael for any form of damage. “I guess I wasn’t being _that_ careful, was I?”

 

“Why were you even playing with _that_ in a motherfucking hallway?” Michael says, too pissed to consider the fact that he’s just embarrassed himself in front of Gavin. Jesus Christ, his assbone really _hurts_ right now. “What are you, like, five?”

 

“I was doing some test shots for my research, you buttcracker,” Gavin says, sounding offended. “It’s not like I brought a toy car to school just for the heck of it, all right?”

 

Michael’s temper falters at that, and he remembers that night in Cockbyte a couple of days ago. He shifts in his feet awkwardly. “So, uh, did you—”

 

“I got my journal back, thanks,” says Gavin. He scratches at the back of his head and offers Michael a hesitant smile. “Geoff gave it to me after my show. I—I guess you swung by and saw me dance, didn’t you?”

 

Michael tries to hide the blush that creeps across his face, to no avail. “I was there, yeah.”

 

Gavin bites his lip. “Listen, I know you don’t really _approve_ of what I do, or whatever, and you _were_ being an arse back at the deli, but—”

 

“I’m _really_ sorry,” Michael cuts into his rambling. He looks up to meet Gavin’s eyes in an earnest stare. “Look, I…I know I was being a jerk. This _job_ of yours isn’t really my business, is it? I should probably get my foot out of my mouth sometimes.”

 

Gavin chuckles, looking a lot less like he’s about to run away, much to Michael’s relief. “Yeah, you probably should.”

 

“So what are you doing with that car?” Michael gestures to the toy still sitting in the floor. Gavin moves to pick it up, checking it for any sign of lasting damage.

 

“I’m using it for my research proposal,” he says, brow furrowed in concentration over the car. “I need to record a few samples of the wheels spinning. It’s been an exercise in patience, really.”

 

“Physics research is all about playing with toys and shit now?” Michael asks dryly. “Looks like I picked the wrong major.”

 

“It’s a proof of concept, you dumb sausage,” Gavin replies with a pout. He turns the little car until the wheel rims are facing Michael, who blinks in surprise. The tires and rims look to be painted over with some kind of odd, multicolored paint. As Gavin idly fiddles with a tire, Michael can see the colors sparkling and shifting with each little movement.

 

“I’m trying to build an imaging system for recording periodic changes in the electromagnetic spectrum,” Gavin explains. “I ordered this top paint off the internet that changes colors in different lighting, so I was gonna film the wheels spinning to see the changes per still shot.”

 

Trying to mentally brush off the dizziness that came with trying to understand physics talk, Michael sifts through Gavin’s statement until he realizes and latches on to something. “What the hell? Then why does this shitty thing have to be running around the hallways?” Michael snaps at him. “Fucking build something to keep it stationary while you film it; you only have to record the wheels!”

 

“Well, uh,” a sheepish expression takes over Gavin’s face again. “I sort of got carried away with playing with it. I only bought the car yesterday, sorry.”

 

Michael resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t need to start another fight with Gavin, thank you very much. “Any, uh, interesting results?”

 

Gavin makes a face and walks back into an empty workroom near where they stood. Michael follows after him, and sees a camcorder set up on a tripod in the middle of the room. Several papers and books are scattered on a table beside it. Gavin stops near the surface and props the car carefully onto the table, before heaving a long-suffering sigh.

 

“I’ve been having a lot of trouble, to be honest,” he says, frowning. “I’ve been getting these weird results over and over, no matter how I change the shutter speed or the processing software. I’ve done, like, ten trial runs already. It’s bloody _annoying._ ” He flops down on a chair near the table, and runs a hand through his hair tiredly.

 

Michael raises an eyebrow and walks over to the laptop set up beside Gavin’s research notes. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the device.

 

“Help yourself. I probably wouldn’t be able to get anywhere beyond this without Professor Zuelch’s help, anyway. But apparently she’s out on a bloody holiday. I’m _so_ dead.” Gavin waves his hand at his general direction and drops his head onto his arms, leaning against the table in frustrated silence.

 

A small smile tugs at Michael’s lips at Gavin’s antics. He reaches over and, despite his better judgment, ruffles at the man’s brown mess of hair.

 

“Stop being such a baby. I’ll see if I can help you out, all right? So stop fucking moping.”

 

Gavin just gives a low whine muffled through his arms, and Michael grins before turning back to the video footage set up in the processing software. He plays the video and has to stifle a snort of amusement and nostalgic rage when he sees the wheels turning backwards a few seconds into the slowed-down recording.

 

“Jesus fuck, you cannot be fucking serious,” he mutters to himself, pausing the video and turning back to where Gavin still has his head buried in his arms. The man turns his head to glare at him halfheartedly.

 

“Don’t be an arse. I don’t _know_ what I’ve been getting wrong, all right?”

 

Michael can’t help but grin at Gavin’s frustration. He’s quite familiar with the feeling from his old engineering core curriculum. He plays the video again, gesturing for Gavin to stand up and watch. “C’mere, you weirdo. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with this whole set up.”

 

Gavin frowns disbelievingly before moving to stand up, and walks over to where Michael is. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

 

“God, just shut up and listen, will you?” Michael shakes his head and points to the miasma of colors spinning in reverse motion on the LED screen. “You ever hear of a little thing called aliasing before?”

 

“What, like spies and stuff?” Gavin asks blankly.

 

“No, not like fucking spies and stuff,” Michael replies flatly, though the answer does actually amuse him a bit. “Like _data processing_ and stuff.”

 

“Um…” Gavin says nervously. Michael rolls his eyes.

 

“Right, I get the picture,” he says. “Aliasing is a reconstruction error that happens when you pick an insufficient sampling rate in comparison to the highest frequency component of your recording.”

 

Gavin thinks about this for a second, then looks back up at Michael indignantly. “Wait, no, but I checked!” he insists, immediately rummaging through the papers on the desk, looking for something. He finally finds a sheet with lines of scribbled equations and algebra among the mess and holds it up in Michael’s face.

 

“See, look!” says Gavin, pointing to the bottom of the page. “I calculated the frequency of the wheels at the car’s top speed! At 15 miles per hour, with a wheel diameter of two inches, they should be rotating at 42 Hz. The camera’s recording at 60 frames per second, which is more than that, so it shouldn’t be a problem!”

 

“Wrong!” Michael tells him gleefully, and Gavin stops, taken aback. Michael can’t help but feel a bit sorry for the poor kid, but hey, it’s a lesson every engineer gets beaten into them. It would at least mean that Gavin would never make the same mistake again. “That’s even _worse!_ Pick a sampling rate between the highest frequency and the highest frequency doubled, and you don’t just get the wrong frequency when you reconstruct the signal. You get the wrong frequency, and the signal is backwards!”

 

Gavin gapes at him, then looks with mounting realization back at the video feed, where the wheels are still merrily spinning the wrong way as the car tears forward. “…Backwards?”

 

“Backwards,” Michael confirms. “It’s called folding, and it’s a bitch. That’s why every engineering student ever knows that they always have to pick a sampling rate greater than double the highest frequency component.” He leans back on the table’s edge and glances at the camera set up in the room. “You want to record a 42 Hz signal? You’re probably gonna need a frame rate of like, a hundred frames per second.”

 

“But…” Gavin says, looking quite downcast at Michael’s explanation. “60 fps is the max frame rate for a Panasonic SD600. It’s the best one I have. It’s pretty expensive too, along with all my other gear. I...” He bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair again. “I don’t know if I can afford a better camera right now, to be honest.”

 

“Well, uh,” Michael falters at that, realizing that Gavin would probably have to work extra hours in Cockbyte just to be able to purchase something better than a thousand-dollar camcorder. _Dammit._ “Look, I have a better idea. Let’s just… modify the car speed, all right? You won’t have to buy any more of your expensive shit. C’mon, gimme that toy.”

 

A small smile appears on Gavin’s lips as he reaches over to grab the RC car and hand it to Michael. “You know, you’ve been a really great help.”

 

“Can’t let physicists be the only geniuses in this university, can we?” Michael says when he takes the toy from Gavin’s hands. “Besides, I don’t think you need any more trouble on your plate, at this point.”

 

Gavin leans back on the table, watching as Michael starts to work on the car. “You’re right,” he says after a few moments, voice quiet and thoughtful. “I really, really don’t.”

 

\--

 


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re in a good mood,” Dan comments when Gavin comes home that evening. He stretches on the couch and plops his beer back on the coffee table, raising his eyebrows at the smile that adorns his best friend’s face.

 

“Worked through a problem in my research,” Gavin chirps as he drops his bag on the kitchen table and opens the fridge to grab himself a drink. “It’s been a good day, all in all.”

 

“Right, right,” says Dan, leaning back on his seat and watching while Gavin makes his way to where he sits. “Do you want to, uh, make it even better or something?”

 

Gavin gives him an amused grin as he flops down on the couch beside Dan. “Is that your idea of a pick-up line?”

 

“God, mate, we’ve been doing this for almost half a decade. Do we really need pick-up lines?” Dan leans over to lick at his beer-slick lips, but Gavin moves his head back, looking a bit put off.

 

“ _Mate_? You really have your way with men, B,” says Gavin, before shaking his head and taking another drink from his beer.

 

Dan pouts and leans back on the couch, arms folded in front of him. “Right, I’m sorry for being ‘unromantic’. Didn’t realize you had a cunt under all that clothes.”

 

“Don’t be an arse, I was just…” Gavin lets out a sigh and sets his beer next to Dan’s on the coffee table. “I don’t know, mate. I guess I like it better when you’re jealous of other blokes and pouring all that girly rubbish on me just to get me back.”

 

That softens Dan up, and he reaches over to pull Gavin into a kiss. “You’re a piece of work,” he says, chuckling against Gavin’s lips as he begins to remove his friend’s shirt.

 

“But you love me anyway,” Gavin replies, moving to straddle Dan on the couch. “Let’s get these clothes off, shall we?”

 

Dan groans in agreement and hurries to work on Gavin’s jeans. “Fucking finally,” he says, and they kiss again, Gavin rubbing his ass against the growing bulge in Dan’s sweatpants.

 

_Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep!_

“Bloody hell, can’t you shut that thing up?” Dan breaks away from the kiss to glare at Gavin, who has the grace to look apologetic.

 

“Sorry, it’s probably about work,” Gavin says, and reaches back into his pocket to grab his phone.

 

He unlocks the screen to find that there’s a text message from Michael Jones.

 

**_Hey, I looked into your research problem once I got the chance. Check out this link._ **

****

There’s a URL following the message. Gavin cannot help the small smile that takes over his face when he locks the screen and puts the phone back in his pocket for later.

 

“Are you done grinning like an idiot?”

 

He’s shaken out of his bubble by Dan, who is frowning at him. “Who was that, anyway?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, um, someone from school,” Gavin says dismissively, and moves to kiss away the frown from Dan’s lips. “Now, where were we?”

 

\--

 

 

**_Saw the link. You’re a pretty useful bloke, aren’t you? Glad I gave you my number._ **

****

“You’re smiling. That’s… unusual,” Ray remarks from his desk, where he’s busy going through a dungeon in World of Warcraft. Michael wipes the grin from his face and turns back to halfheartedly perusing his Relativity textbook on his bed.

 

“None of your business,” he says bitingly, and flips a page with enough force to induce a small tear.

 

Ray sighs and pauses the game to swivel in his seat, a frustrated look on his face. “Look, bro, I’m just trying to be friendly here, all right? You know I’m _sorry._ We all are. So can you just… quit being a jerk and well, at least give us a chance to make up for it?”

 

Michael slams the book shut and sits up on his bed, turning to glare at Ray. “You brought me to a gay bar on my motherfucking birthday!” he points out, still not willing to let the matter slide.

 

“We already apologized for it,” Ray says crossing his arms over his chest. “How many times do we have to say we’re sorry?”

 

Michael doesn’t respond, instead picks up his book and continues his studying. A few moments of stubborn silence passes, and Michael has begun to think that Ray’s given up on their little confrontation when his best friend suddenly speaks, his tone sharp.

 

“You went back, didn’t you? To the bar?”

 

Michael’s act of turning another page under the pretense of reading stops, and he tries his best not to look guilty. “What do you mean?”

 

He can practically _hear_ Ray rolling his eyes where he sits.

 

“Fuck, Michael. Are you still gonna hide this from me? I’m your best friend. You _like_ the guy, don’t you?”

 

When Michael still doesn’t answer, Ray continues, his voice suddenly soft. “Listen, Miles talked to Monty and, well, heard about your little visit to the bar. I told them you probably went back to apologize, but I know you, Mike. You don’t _do_ that sort of shit, unless there’s something else going on.”

 

Michael searches his mind for a way out of this particular conversation, but comes up with nothing. He then sighs and puts down his book to run a hand through his hair tiredly.

 

“That…guy from the club? He studies _here_.”

 

Ray raises his eyebrows at that, surprised. “Really?”

 

Michael nods, still not looking at him. “He’s in my Special Relativity class. His name’s Gavin.”

 

“Right, well.” Michael sneaks a glance at Ray, and it looks like his best friend’s got a lot of questions he wants to ask. “That seems to be a good reason to hang out with each other, I guess.”

 

“I’m just—I just thought I was being an asshole, okay? Running out on him like that? I…I wanted to make up for it, so we had lunch after class, but then I ended up spewing out more bullshit, and he got angry.” Michael heaves another sigh, and closes his eyes to shake his head. “I was…I had to make it right, somehow.”

 

“So you thought it would be a good idea to visit him in the bar,” Ray says, looking a tad bit disbelieving.

 

“He left something when I pissed him off and he walked out, all right? I was just…giving it back to him. No big deal.” Michael moves to stand up from the bed, not liking the avenue the conversation seems insistent to take. “I didn’t go there to pick up more dudes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Ray puts his hand up in a defensive gesture. “I just…I just thought you should probably, you know, tell me? If you wanna bat for the other team? I promise I’m totally gonna be supportive about it.”

 

This earns him a death glare from Michael. “I’m not batting for the other team, fucker. You know what, I don’t know why I have to explain this to you.Gavin’s a really nice dude, and he’s pretty smart too, so yeah, it’s not a big deal that I hang out with him, help him with his research and stuff—”

 

“Hang on,” Ray says, brow furrowed. “You’re helping him out with _research_?”

 

Michael throws up his hands in frustration. “It’s a fucking fellowship application. He’s one of those Physics geeks with not a lot of funds to spare for their research expenses. It’s some fucking noble student shit situation, all right? I don’t see why it’s bad for me to help him out once in a while.”

                                                                                                                                         

“Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Ray says, placating. He waits a moment for Michael to calm down enough for him to pose another question.

 

“So, uh… Is that all? You’re not actually, you know—”

 

“I’m _not_ , Ray.” And really, his word should be enough for his best friend to quit this stupid Spanish Inquisition bullshit so they can both get on with their sorry lives. Never mind that, well, Gavin’s sort of really _attractive_ , and Michael would be lying to himself if he doesn’t admit that there’s _something_ there, at the very least.

 

But yeah, Ray doesn’t need to know about that, does he?

 

“Right, okay.” Ray makes the wise decision to let the matter go, lest he incur his best friend’s full wrath yet again. He nods, seeming satisfied with their little chat, and goes back to beating his current dungeon. “If you say so.”

 

Michael bites his lip, annoyed, but doesn’t say anything else. He picks up his book and moves back to his bed to resume his reading, glad that the matter’s finally been resolved for the moment.

 

“So, uh, you wanna bring him over to a game night sometime?”

 

Michael snaps his book shut so quickly that a fucking cloud of air actually blows up in his face, and turns to glare at Ray incredulously.

 

“What? No!”

 

Ray raises his eyebrows. “Why not? Just…ask him, or something. It’d be fun.”

 

“Because, uh—”

 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Ray says, and he seems to be fighting a grin, the little shit. “You’re probably gonna be hanging out with him a lot, so it’d be nice if he gets to know the other guys. Miles and Kerry, at the very least. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to have someone to even out the numbers when Caleb comes over to play.”

 

Michael groans and plops back down on the bed. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

 

“Nope, not kidding, sorry.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Thought you didn’t bat for the other team.”

 

Ray cackles and ducks when Michael throws his book at him.

 

\--

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Do you play video games?”

 

Gavin doesn’t glance up from where he’s writing what appear to be research notes in his journal. He speaks, his tone soft in his obvious occupation with his work. “Yeah, sometimes. Why?”

 

“Um, nothing,” Michael says, letting out a slight cough and turning back to his own lecture notes. “Just wondering, is all.”

 

“Right,” Gavin says, not seeming to have noticed Michael’s apprehension, and continues with his writing.

 

Silence ensues after that, and Michael inwardly sighs with relief at the fact that he has a reason _not_ to ask Gavin to Ray’s stupid game night. It doesn’t seem like the man’s that interested in being locked up with four sweaty computer geeks in a high-testosterone match involving lots of cursing, alcohol, and pizza consumption.

 

He’s probably locked himself up with the same number of guys in other, _shadier_ circumstances, but Michael doesn’t let himself pursue that particular train of thought.

 

He allows himself a small smile. He’s probably just gonna ask Caleb to come over or something.

 

“So this is where you spend all your free time now, huh?” sounds an all-too-familiar voice from somewhere behind Michael. He closes his eyes in a silent prayer for patience and opens them again, turning in his seat to find Ray standing a couple of feet away from their table in the library, a smug look plastered on his face.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too demanding. Ray grins at him and ambles over to where he sits.

 

“Just needed to find a book for a research assignment,” he says lightly. His friend’s eyes roam the length of their table and steadies on Gavin, who is still hunched over his journal, busily writing whatever equations and source material he needs to proceed with his project. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you had company.”

 

Michael struggles with the overwhelming urge to kick Ray in the shin. “Listen, why don’t we—”

 

“Hi,” Ray completely steamrolls over his attempt at steering him away from Gavin by thrusting a hand directly under the man’s nose. Gavin looks up from his notes for the first time in the past hour, looking like he’s been suddenly yanked out of a thick fog.

 

“Um, hi?” he says, taking Ray’s hand and shaking it, still looking confused.

 

“I’m Ray, Michael’s best friend.” Michael resists the desire to smack his forehead against the table. Because there is _no way_ Gavin doesn’t recognize him from that night in the bar.

 

He watches as the realization creeps into Gavin’s eyes and decides to step in. “Dude, we should probably—”

 

“Yeah, I remember you,” Gavin says, his voice testy. “You’re that moron who brought Michael to our club, right?”

 

“That’s—uh, that’s me.” Ray sounds a bit unsure this time, apparently cluing in to his rapidly impending doom. “Sorry. I—we, uh, we really thought that was a straight strip club. With, um, girls.”

 

Gavin looks like he still has a few more choice words to throw at Ray, but he glances over to Michael and thankfully registers his pleading expression. He sighs and lets go of Ray’s hand. “You’re a bloody idiot, you know that?”

 

“So I’ve been told,” Ray says sheepishly. “For what it’s worth, we’re really sorry about that. We didn’t realize until…until we were in the middle of it.”

 

Gavin’s lips twitch into an amused smile. “I know. Michael’s told me all about it already. No harm done.”

 

Ray looks visibly relieved. He nods and a grin breaks across his face. “So, uh, did Michael tell you about game night yet?”

 

“ _Ray!_ ”

 

“What?”

 

“Er…what is game night?” Gavin says, looking quite mystified.

 

“You mean Michael didn’t tell you yet?” Ray sends Michael a look, who counters with his own death glare.

 

“No, I was…building up to it.”

 

“Right. He’s listening now, so can we tell him?”

 

Michael’s eyes speak of a horrible, painful death. “Fucking do what you want.”

 

“Great! I will.” Ray turns back to Gavin, who is watching their conversation with a bewildered expression on his face. “So me and the guys get together every Friday night to play against each other in whatever game. We’re doing Dead or Alive 5 this weekend. You okay with that?”

 

“Really?” Gavin’s face lights up at the mention of the game. “I’ve been looking to play that since it’s been released!”

 

“I just got myself a copy a week ago,” Ray says, grinning. “So you’re coming?”

 

“I’m free this weekend, so why not?” Gavin says, completely unaware of Michael wanting to crawl under the table and stay there for the rest of the goddamn year. He turns to smile at him, seeming excited. “I _can_ come, right?”

 

“Um.” Michael is caught off guard. He looks from Gavin’s hopeful expression to Ray’s smug one, the fucking jerkwad. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

 

“Awesome,” Ray says, and Michael wants to wipe that stupid grin on his face with the flat end of his shoe. His best friend nods and buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans before he gestures to another row of bookshelves away from their table. “Listen, I gotta go find this book. But I expect you’ll be there this weekend, uh… Gavin, right?”

 

“I’ll be there,” Gavin says, smiling at him.

 

Once Ray is gone, Michael lets out a huge sigh and plops his head down on their table.

 

“He’s a nice bloke after all,” Gavin says thoughtfully, his eyes following Ray’s back as he retreats to the software programming section. When Michael doesn’t answer, he looks over at him with a frown. “You all right?”

 

“Just fucking peachy,” came Michael’s muffled response. He looks up to see Gavin gazing at him curiously. “You sure you wanna come see my friends this weekend?”

 

Gavin shrugs. “They sound nice, even though they’re a bunch of thick headed sods for what happened last week. Plus, I’ve been excited about that game since forever. So why not?”

 

He frowns at the look on Michael’s face. “You… don’t want me to be there, do you?”

 

Michael struggles for an explanation. “Look, I—”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Gavin says, although his mouth is pressed into a thin line. He closes his journal and tucks it away into his mail bag along with his pen. “It’s gonna be pretty awkward, yeah? So, uh, just tell your friend I won’t be able to make it.”

 

“Gavin—”

 

But he seems to be having none of it, and Michael suspects that this is another one of those times where he’s completely botched up their already fragile friendship with his stupid fucking temper. Gavin just stands up from his seat, taking his bag and a small stack of physics reference books with him. “I gotta go. I’ll just… see you in class.”

 

Michael watches helplessly as Gavin walks away from the table and out of sight, wondering how on earth he’s going to make it up to the man this time.

 

\--

 

 

“You’re here again.”

 

Michael is telling himself the exact same thing as he sits in front of Matt under the pulsing lights of Cockbyte’s main bar. He forces himself to smile at the bartender and nods. “Yeah, uh, just…visiting a friend, I guess.”

 

“By ‘friend’ you mean Gavin?” Matt says, that teasing glint in his eye too obvious for Michael’s comfort. “He’ll be around in a few minutes, don’t you worry. You’ll be having the usual?”

 

“Just a beer, thanks.”

 

“Good choice.” Matt smiles approvingly and slides over a chilled bottle of Coors. “You’ll probably have better luck doing this sober.”

 

Michael looks up at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

 

“You’re not the first guy to be waiting around for Gavin, you know,” says Matt, a sympathetic look on his face. “Most of them are older men with more, ah, _dubious_ intentions, granted, but he’s had his fair share of admirers. Dan mostly picks them off with his fists, though. You’re pretty lucky he hasn’t gotten wind of you yet.”

 

Michael takes the bottle and downs a huge gulp to calm his nerves. “And, uh, you’re not…telling him about me?”

 

“We try to stay out of it, unless Gavin himself tells us to fend the guys off,” Matt says, shrugging. “It’s how these places work, after all. These guys come and watch their pretty boy work it on stage, Gavin gives them a great show, probably comes down to flirt with them a bit, he gets tips, they all walk home happy. Pretty neat, huh?”

 

“Like fucking clockwork,” Michael mutters, wondering if he still wants to go through with his plan for the night. “Listen. I’m not…I’m not one of his fucking admirers, okay?”

 

“You’re not?” Matt looks completely disbelieving. “What are you doing here, then?”

 

“I’m just a _friend_ ,” Michael gives the word an emphasis, as if that’s going to make a difference on Matt, who just rolls his eyes while taking care of another customer’s order. “No, really, I am.”

 

“Yeah, the way you stared at him the last time you were here really helps prove that statement,” Matt says sarcastically while he pours a double shot of scotch and slides it over to one of the men waiting on the counter. “You looked like you were ready to run up there and tear him away from Monty, all things be damned.” He watches the expression on Michael’s face and lets out an incredulous snort. “ _Jesus,_ you’re not even aware of it, are you?”

 

Michael looks away and tries to drown himself in his beer.

 

The way Matt laughs at him makes Michael want to jump off a bridge instead of just sitting there like an idiot. “Oh, man. You’re totally fucking _smitten._ ”

 

Whatever reply Michael has for that particular revelation is lost when the lights go off, signaling the start of the midnight show. Sure enough, there’s already a silhouette waiting in the middle of the stage, visible even through the haze of darkness prevalent in the large room.

 

“There he is, lover boy,” he hears Matt whisper teasingly beside him.

 

The lights go on, and Gavin can be seen in the middle of the raised platform. He’s wearing, of all the damn things, a fucking _schoolboy outfit:_ a pair of black trousers, a crisp white shirt and a loose necktie, for Christ’s sake. He’s alone this time, a dancing companion nowhere in sight, which somewhat comforts Michael in a way he cannot explain. But still, a schoolboy outfit?

 

He watches as the music starts and Gavin begins walking around the pole with a catlike gait, one of his hands finding his tie and tugging it off until it slips from his neck, leaving his collar open and showing a pale sliver of skin. He throws the strip of clothing away and someone in the audience catches it to a round of hooting catcalls.

 

Michael’s grip tightens around his beer bottle.

 

Gavin doesn’t seem to mind the perverted sounds his avid watchers are making. In fact, he encourages it by leaning his back against the pole, his chest moving up and down and his eyelashes fluttering coyly as he begins to unbutton his shirt in a slow, teasing fashion, each movement revealing a growing expanse of skin to all and sundry.

 

Michael’s throat dries at the sight and he swallows, pulling in his beer for a long drink. When he resurfaces, Gavin is already stripping away the shirt, tossing it aside until his chest is bare for everyone to see, pink nipples erect and glistening under the glowing light of the stage.

 

The men seem to go crazy at the sight, and Michael watches in a mixture of horror and fascination as Gavin put his fingers to his lips, fucking _wets_ them with his tongue, and brings his hand down to circle at one nipple teasingly until he flicks it with a finger, much to his audience’s delight.

 

“Geoff’s probably going mad behind the stage,” Matt says, chuckling to himself behind the bar, all too aware of Michael’s shock at seeing the act. “Gavin’s not supposed to do that sort of stuff, you know. But he does when he’s feeling particularly vindictive. He and Dan probably had a fight.”

 

“Probably, yeah,” Michael says, voice strangled as Gavin brings his fingers back to his mouth and _sucks,_ his gaze on the crowd sultry and tempting as he trails his other hand down to his pants, where he tugs at the edge of the cloth until the hem of his underwear becomes visible.

 

Gavin releases his fingers, the digits shining with spit as he drags them over his chest and across his navel in a sensuous trail, until he reaches the button of his pants. A small movement is all it takes for the button to flick open, and the zipper follows in a long, teasing line, until Gavin’s bulge is there for everyone viewing pleasure.

 

“He’s _really_ going for it,” Matt remarks, sounding amazed, and Michael desperately _needs_ the show to end, for the sake of his own sanity.

 

But then Gavin’s gaze drifts over from the audience to the bar and straight to _him,_ fixing his eyes on Michael’s in a challenging stare.

 

It’s that exact moment when Michael stops breathing.

 

 _He knows._ The thought runs through his head like a fucking bullhorn at the crack of dawn as Gavin continues to move out of his pants, his gaze not leaving Michael’s even just for a second. _He knows I’m fucking—_

 

“Here goes,” Matt says, and Michael narrowly avoids a coronary when Gavin manages to divest himself of the clothing, turns around, and fucking _bends over,_ his ass up in the air and his balls pressing against the thin fabric of this underwear.

 

“What is—” Michael manages to croak out as Gavin’s fingers skate around one firm ass cheek, the digits caressing the soft globe and flicking at the edge of his underwear teasingly. “What is he doing? Is this—is this—”

 

“God, man,” says Matt, shaking his head where he stands, sounding incredibly amused. “ _You_ pissed him off, didn’t you? Is that why you’re here?”

 

Michael suddenly stands up from his seat, slamming his beer down on the counter with so much force the bottle almost cracks. “I can’t just fucking sit here and watch this,” he says, determined. Gavin straightens up slowly and twirls around the pole, his eyes still on Michael as he moves, as if daring him to come up there and _stop him._

Jesus Christ, what is that fucker even thinking?

 

Apparently seeing Michael’s visible response to his antics, Gavin lets out a coy smile and leans back on the pole again, his hips gyrating to the beat of the music as his hands move down to the waistband of his briefs, his thumbs hooking around the elastic in an obvious challenge.

 

“Don’t—”

 

Completely ignoring Matt’s protests, Michael springs into action, leaving the bar to walk through the crowded tables in an attempt to get to Gavin before he actually strips bare in front of everyone else in the club.

 

He doesn’t let go of Gavin’s stare, instead thinking _stay put, just fucking stay put for me please,_ and hoping the idiot is able to read his mind through his eyes.

 

Gavin’s smile just grows wider. He leans his head back against the pole, chest and neck exposed under the soft lights of the stage, his hips moving sinuously to the music as the waistband of his briefs move down another inch, his hipbone peeking out to the bar’s viewing public.

 

Michael almost stumbles over someone’s foot in his haste, and he steadies himself against one of the tables. When he looks up, however, Gavin’s eyes are already closed, his head thrown back and his mouth open in a mimicry of ecstasy as his hand continues to pull his underwear down, and Michael can already see a patch of brown where Gavin’s—Gavin’s fucking—

 

_Shit! Gavin, don’t—_

And then, just like that, all the lights in the room go out, leaving the stage completely dark and Gavin nowhere to be seen.

 

\--

 


	9. Chapter 9

“What the bloody fuck was _that_?!”

 

Gavin ignores Dan’s angry demand in favor of staring at a blank expanse of wall on the far side of the room, hugging the dress robe Geoff has thrown around him close to his body. He’s keeping himself in stubborn silence, which serves to further infuriate the other man, who then turns to punch the wall, _hard._

Gavin doesn’t even flinch. He just turns to face Geoff, who has a frustrated look on his face.

 

“Don’t ruin the property, Dan. Burnie will have both our necks.” He turns to address Gavin, letting out a sigh before he asks, “Do I _even_ need to ask why you had to do that?”

 

“Everyone in the bar loved it,” Gavin says, shrugging. “I don’t see why you’re all so flipping mad.”

 

Chris snickers from where he’s leaning against one of the dressers. “You almost showed everyone your goods, of course people are gonna love it.”

 

Geoff quells Chris with a glare before turning back to Gavin. “How many times do I have to tell you? You _don’t_ need to do these things, Gavin. You just get out there, dance, and get back here with two or more articles of clothing intact, preferably.”

 

“They’re _my_ bits, why do you care if everyone gets to see it? It’s not like they haven’t before!” He rolls his eyes at the surprised looks he gets thrown in his direction. “I mean, a lot of them have probably been in the VIPs. God knows I’ve done a whole lot worse than a complete striptease in there.”

 

“That’s why it’s the VIPs, Gavin,” Gus cuts in, because Geoff looks like he’s about to a burst a vein. He doesn’t likebeing reminded that Gavin gives extra _services_ to people who have the money for it. “There’s a difference. You don’t do those shit in front of these cheap-ass drunkards in the general area.”

 

“Yeah, man, or they won’t pay for the VIPs anymore,” Chris pipes up again, only to quiet down at the look on Geoff’s face.

 

“Are you—are you saying that it’s all right for Gavin to fucking _whore_ himself out in those rooms?” Dan says, stepping into the conversation and sounding even angrier than before. “Because I’m not having that. Gavin, let’s—”

 

“You _don’t_ get to dictate what I do, Dan!” Gavin snaps, turning to glare at his best friend. “I can fuck whoever I like, all right? Because that’s how we get the bloody food on the table, how we pay for our rent, for my school, for all our fucking debts since we got stuck in this stupid bloody country. All right? So can you stop being such a git about it and let me get on with my job?”

 

Silence falls over the room, in which Dan looks away and Gavin closes his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down from his sudden outburst. Geoff looks like he wants to say something to fix the situation, but a cough from somewhere outside the dressing room door stops his words.

 

“I, uh… Sorry to disturb you, but I saw this guy hanging around backstage,” Jack peeks his head inside, sounding incredibly uncomfortable as he realizes the scene he’s just walked into.

 

“Fucking throw him out then, why’d you bring him here?” Geoff asks impatiently.

 

“He keeps asking for Gavin. Says he’s his friend from school,” says Jack, and Gavin looks up to see Michael being manhandled into the room by the large bouncer.

 

“God…” Geoff actually rubs at his temples this time, trying to keep his cool and obviously failing. “You’re fucking here again?”

 

Michael looks like a fish out of water, incredibly caught off guard as everyone’s attention focuses on him, Gavin’s included. He blushes and shifts his feet, not meeting Gavin’s eyes as he speaks.

 

“I, uh, I was gonna—”

 

“Fuck me,” Dan says, letting out a harsh chuckle and gesturing in Michael’s direction. “That fucking act, it wasn’t about us, was it? It’s because of _him_? You were gonna fucking show everyone your _cock_ because he’s—”

 

“Let’s go,” Gavin says, not looking at anyone in the room before grabbing his clothes and bag from his dressing table and striding over to Michael. He grabs the man’s arm and steers him out of the room and through the back door until they make out into the cold streets of downtown.

 

He lets go of Michael as soon as they’re on the sidewalk and begins divesting himself of his dress robe. Michael’s eyes bulge at the sight.

 

“What the fuck are you—”

 

“I’m just gonna put on some clothes, all right? No need to get your knickers in a twist,” Gavin says, not seeming to mind the fact that several people are still cruising the streets and that a few catcalls have already been thrown his way while he pulls his jeans on. Michael looks away, hugging his jacket closer to himself, a blush tinting his cheeks as he waits for Gavin to get dressed.

 

“Are you done?” he says after a couple of moments, starting to get worried that they might attract unwanted attention.

 

“Just about,” says Gavin, and Michael turns around just to see a flash of the skin of his stomach before it’s covered by his plain white shirt. “Yeah, I’m finished.”

 

“Great,” Michael says, swallowing and averting his eyes. He scans the street for any sign of a cab. No such luck.

 

“Why’d you come to the club?” Gavin asks suddenly, and Michael turns to see the intense gaze the man has fixed on him. He struggles to find his words.

 

“I…I wanted to apologize. Again.”

 

“Figures,” says Gavin, and he lets out a small chuckle. “You’re _really_ a nice guy, aren’t you?”

 

“What do you mean?” Michael asks, bewildered.

 

Gavin licks his lips, and he looks at Michael again. If possible, his gaze intensifies. “I saw you when you came in. I knew you were here to say sorry for earlier, but I wanted to test you, I guess. I wanted to see what you’re going to do, you know. If I try to strip in front of everyone.”

 

“That’s what it was?” Michael says, feeling anger and frustration spike up in his chest. “Of course I was gonna stop you! How do you think I’d act if— _mmph_!”

 

Gavin silences him with a kiss, and he feels a slip of the man’s tongue across his bottom lip before he pulls away, smiling at him playfully.

 

“Just as I said. A really nice guy.”

 

Michael sputters and tries to regain his composure.

 

“I—I didn’t—”

 

“So, Michael Jones,” Gavin says, biting his bottom lip invitingly as he steps closer and fiddles with the bottom hem of Michael’s shirt. “I’m feeling like playing with nice blokes tonight. Wanna get out of here?”

 

“T—to where?” Michael asks, his brain drawing up a blank under the spell of Gavin’s stare.

 

“There’s a motel a couple of blocks down the street,” Gavin says, leaning closer until they’re inches away from each other, his hot breath mingling with Michael’s own. “Let’s…continue where we left off on your birthday, shall we?”

 

Michael desperately _wants_ to take Gavin up on his offer, but he knowsthis is wrong. Something about how Gavin’s acting… It’s like he’s _angry._ Like he’s trying to _prove_ something.

 

And Michael has a sneaking suspicion of what exactly it is he’s trying to prove

 

“Gavin…” he says, after a moment. “Listen, I don’t think—”

 

“Get the fuck away from him!”

 

He feels himself getting yanked back by a strong arm, only for his face to meet an even stronger fist. It sends him sprawling on the cold, hard ground, his whole head feeling like it’s been trampled on by a dozen elephants and a triple decker bus thrown in for good measure.

 

“Daniel! What the _fuck_?!”

 

“What are you doing with him?!”

 

“It’s none of your sodding business what I do with him! So why don’t you fuck off?” Michael feels himself get propped up against a solid chest, and he opens his eyes to see Gavin’s face swimming into view, his expression incredibly worried.

 

“Are you all right?” he asks, sounding quite upset.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but Dan speaks, effectively cutting him off.

 

“Gavin, look, I’m sorry for what I said in there, all right? But that doesn’t mean you can just run off with this wanker, does it?”

 

Gavin looks away from him to level Dan with a glare. “I can do whatever I want, Dan,” he spits out angrily. “The last time I checked, we’re _not_ together.”

 

“But you said—”

 

“I _know_ what I said!” Gavin yells, and Dan blanches at the anger on his best friend’s face. “But I’m just so fucking pissed at you right now that I’m thinking of taking it back!”

 

“B…” Michael sees Dan approach and can’t help the wave of sympathy that washes over him at the man’s all-too-familiar expression. “Don’t…don’t do this, please.”

 

Gavin takes a breath and looks away. He then speaks, his voice tired. “Fuck, Dan, just…just go, all right? I’m just gonna fix him up and then we’re gonna talk. But not right now, yeah?”

 

“B, I—”

 

“ _Go._ See if Chris is okay with you staying the night at his place.”

 

“I’ll…I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.” That’s the last thing Michael hears from Dan before the man walks away, leaving the two of them alone in the street.

 

“Does it hurt?” Gavin says, turning back to stare at him worriedly.

 

“Of course it fucking does,” Michael says hoarsely, trying to keep the world from spinning in his view. “Jesus… Tell your boyfriend to take it easy next time, okay?”

 

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend,” Gavin says, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

 

Michael _doesn’t_ have time for this shit. His head feels like it’s about to split and give birth to a rhino, and it seems like he’s lost control of his legs for the time being.

 

“Really? Because everyone else keeps saying that he is, and something tells me that punch wasn’t totally uncalled for, was it?”

 

“I’ll explain later,” Gavin says, heaving a sigh. “Look, I should probably take you to my place. You look like you’re about to faint.”

 

“It’s not really that—” But Gavin’s already flagging a cab, and he pulls Michael up along with him in a surprisingly strong grip.

 

They make it to Gavin’s apartment complex in around ten minutes, and Gavin pays the cab before helping Michael up the stairs and into a small living room, sparse and unadorned. There’s a couch set up near the heater and across the television and a few picture frames are hung up on the walls, all showing Gavin and Dan along with a few sets of friends.

 

“Not your boyfriend, huh?” He gestures toward the pictures, and Gavin rolls his eyes before setting him down on the couch.

 

“We’re childhood mates,” he says, walking over to the fridge and opening it to take out an icepack and a couple of beers. “We’ve known each other for ages.”

 

Michael accepts the beer and reaches for the icepack, but Gavin pulls it out of reach. “It doesn’t look like that’s all there is to it,” he says, and stifles a yelp when the man starts dabbing the cold material on the bruises starting to form around his left eye. “ _Fuck_! Give me a bit of warning next time.”

 

“Stay still, you bloody knob,” Gavin says irritably, before holding Michael’s arm and continuing to press the icepack against his face.

 

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

 

“We’re sleeping together, yes.”

 

“A-fucking-ha.”

 

“Sod off. It’s not like you haven’t had a fuck buddy before.”

 

At the look on Michael’s face, Gavin leans back, surprised and disbelieving. “Y—you haven’t? Jesus, you’re a really different sort, aren’t you?”

 

“I had a girlfriend, all right?” Michael says, blushing deeply. “It’s not like I’ve had any opportunities to have ‘fuck buddies’. Gimme that.” He snatches the ice pack from Gavin and presses it against his bruise, wincing at the sudden burst of pain.

 

“Oh.” Gavin raises one eyebrow and takes a drink from his own beer. “What happened to this girlfriend?”

 

“She, uh, she left.”

 

“…Sorry.”

 

“It’s been three months since we broke up. It’s no big deal.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

Michael heaves a sigh and looks away. “She was—she was the _one_ for me, all right? But she…she thought it was better to go and feed starving children in fucking Somalia or whatever country than be with me. So yeah.” He makes a half-hearted gesture with his bottle and smiles wryly. “Loser of the century. That’s me.”

 

Gavin can’t help the small chuckle that escapes his lips.

 

“It’s not fucking funny!” Michael says, annoyed.

 

“I’m sorry. It’s just that—is that why your friends took you to our club?”

 

Michael looks away, face growing redder. “They’re fucking morons, all right?”

 

Gavin’s grin softens and hescoots closer to Michael, nudging him with his shoulder. “Hey, if it helps, I haven’t been in any relationship since Dan and I started fucking. So we’re both losers, in a way.”

 

“ _How_ is that the same with me?” Michael demands, turning to give Gavin a bewildered stare.

 

“I dunno, it just is,” Gavin says, shrugging. “Maybe…maybe because we’re both too bloody afraid to go out there and find something else. _Someone_ else.” He pauses, the smile on his face fading, and he looks down. “We keep thinking that…that this is _it_ for us. And then we get smacked in the face by reality.” He lets out a small laugh.

 

“Would you believe that I actually thought I’d marry Dan when we were younger?”

 

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Depends. Just how young was this?”

 

“Probably eight years old at the time. Can’t remember now.”

 

“God.” Michael snorts at that.

 

“He was my knight-in-shining-armor, that he was,” Gavin says, seeming nostalgic. He bites his lip and looks at Michael. “Bet that girl was the same for you, too.”

 

“Yeah, but sort of the other way around. No, wait—yeah. She was my knight, all right.” Michael smiles at the memory of Lindsay: strong, beautiful, and dependable—she’d been his rock. Until she took off and left him to wallow in his own misery, that is. “Fat lot of good that did me.”

 

He looks at Gavin again, suddenly registering their proximity and feeling his breath hitch at the realization. “You, uh… you don’t feel the same about Dan anymore?”

 

“Life happened,” Gavin says simply. “We’re bloody co-dependent, anyone with eyes can see that, but…you know, I want—I want to be _something else_ than this. That’s why I’m working hard for my fellowship. But we have debts to pay, yeah? I need to…I need to be _here_ for him. For now.”

 

“Why?” Michael asks, because Gavin’s been a fucking _enigma_. He needs to understand what exactly is keeping the man in this life he’s so obviously tired of.

 

The moment of silence that follows stretches on, and Michael is starting to think that Gavin’s not going to answer when the man speaks, his voice quiet. “When—when we came here, about seven years ago, Dan was dating this American girl he met in Oxford, back where we lived. She took us here for the summer, and we were fresh out of sixth form. We didn’t give a shit where we went. We just… we wanted to see the world. She, uh—she did a lot of drugs.” Gavin’s expression grows darker at this, like he doesn’t want to say any more, but presses on. “And yeah, it’s not like we haven’t taken any back in England. I mean, we did weed and a few recreational drugs back at parties, but she did coke, and that was… _way_ out of our league, you know.

 

“But Dan, he was _smitten._ And I was, with him. I’d follow him to the ends of the earth and back, if it meant keeping him safe, yeah? So I went with them. I tried talking him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. Until they both got into trouble because the girl was _dealing,_ which meant Dan started doing it too, and apparently we’re talking about bloody syndicates here. That was about a couple of months into our stay.”

 

Michael sees Gavin tighten his hands around his beer bottle, and he continues to speak.

 

“That’s when I met Burnie. I was desperate. I _needed_ to find a source of money to buy us a couple of tickets so we could get the fuck out of town, so I started turning tricks. I didn’t have any marketable skills, except for the fact that I give excellent blowjobs.” He snorts at this, but nothing about the story is funny, not to Michael anyway. “He…he found me, in one of the alleyways around downtown, and told me I could make better cash and stay out of harm’s way. He, uh, he talked to that arsehole Dan owed. Got him out of trouble. But we had to stay and work for him in exchange.” He lets out a sigh, and grabs his beer to take a long drink. “So, uh, yeah, that’s how I got here. Gavin Free, stripper extraordinaire.”

 

Michael doesn’t know what to say, so he asks the next thing that comes into his mind. “But, it’s been seven years, and you’re studying. What happened? Just…just _how much_ do you owe this Burnie guy?”

 

Gavin chuckles at that. “A lot,” he says. “Like, a fuckton. I was just gonna work my arse off and pay him then get the sodding hell out of here, you know? But then I met Professor Haywood at one of these science conventions I’d been lurking around in during my free time, and he—he made me believe I could be something more. So I took a leap of faith, got my school credentials sent over, and asked Burnie for another loan. Dan was shit angry at first, like you wouldn’t believe, but he _owed_ me this. I _was_ going to go to university back in England, you know. Before we left. So I did what I always wanted, and here I am. Graduating.” He looks up at Michael, and his grin is genuine this time. Hopeful. It sends a pang of something bittersweet down Michael’s spine that he fights back with a smile.

 

“You did great. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do,” Gavin says, his grin growing wider. “I’m gonna be a bloody experimental physicist, aren’t I?”

 

“That, you are,” Michael says, and puts down his beer and icepack to level Gavin with an earnest stare. “Look, you’re fucking awesome, all right? Nobody can go through that amount of hell and come up standing the way you did. _Fuck,_ you’re like, a motherfucking superhero. I’m just…I’m really proud of you.”

 

“God, thanks,” Gavin says, huffing out a laugh. “Your, uh, _approval_ means a lot to me.”

 

He quiets down and Michael realizes for the third time that night just how fucking close they are to each other.

 

“Listen—”

 

“ _Don’t.”_

“Right, okay.”

 

And Gavin is suddenly kissing him, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow and only the two of them exists in this fucking planet, like he’s conquering a motherfucking country with his tongue, and all Michael can do is respond with a groan and pull the man closer to him. Gavin pushes him forward until his back presses against the couch, and he’s suddenly straddling Michael, his eyes bright. They pause, panting heavily and just staring at each other with identical expressions of wonder on their faces.

 

“Are you gonna fight me off this time?” Gavin asks, his expression hopeful, and Michael takes in a breath.

 

“Gavin…”

 

Gavin lets out an incredulous snort. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” He lets go of him and moves to get out of his lap, but Michael grabs his arms in an iron grip.

 

“Gavin, just fucking _listen_ to me for once, all right?” Gavin pauses and gives him a _What now?_ Look

 

“I don’t…” Michael bites his lip and lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to find words to explain how he actually _feels_ about this. “I don’t want you to be just a meaningless _fuck,_ okay?”

 

Gavin groans and laughs, leaning forward to press a kiss against Michael’s lips. “Oh _god,_ Michael Jones. You’re going to kill me if you keep at this, you know that?”

 

“You’re the one in my motherfucking lap and grinding against my dick like that,” Michael points out breathlessly, his grip tightening on Gavin’s arms. “This is…this is _hard_ for me too.”

 

“Yeah, I can bloody tell,” Gavin says, snorting. Michael glares at him and he grins cheekily back, which softens the man up until he’s smiling, too.

 

He leans forward and captures Gavin’s lips in a kiss despite himself, running his hands up and down his arms in a reassuring manner.

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says, once they resurface for air. “Just…just stay here, will you?”

 

“Well, it is _my_ house,” Gavin says, eyebrow raised at him, but his eyes are twinkling with what seems like happiness, and it warms Michael’s heart to see it.

 

“You know what I fucking mean,” he says, and pulls Gavin to him until they’re flush against each other, his face buried in Gavin’s neck. “I’m not going anywhere, all right? But we…we need to give this time.”

 

“Oh, all right,” Gavin says grudgingly, and he nuzzles against Michael’s neck. “I’m gonna be having blue balls for the rest of the night. You’re making up for that, one of these days.”

 

“Will do,” Michael chuckles, and he looks up at him, his gaze fond. “I promise.”

 

“I’m holding you on to that.”

 

\--

 


	10. Chapter 10

The sight of Gavin in his dormitory, leaning back in one of their beanbags and playing Dead or Alive with his three best friends in the world throws Michael off balance, but it’s not like those times before Lindsay when he wanted to just take the girl home to her parents, go back and think about whether he’d take her out again the next day (he never did). It’s all a bit different, this time. Gavin’s not a girl, first of all, and one look at the scenario in front of him shows just how much the man fits in with all the things they do on a game night: hurl pieces of pepperoni and bacon at each other whenever someone so much as breaks out a winning combo in the arena, accompanied by the standard amount of cursing one would expect from a set of hot-blooded college nerds locked up together in a small dorm room just a couple of weeks away from midterms.

 

He sits there, having proclaimed Michael’s purple beanbag his territory for the night, and spews out the _weirdest_ noises that Michael supposes portray Gavin’s indignation at Miles’ character being able to wipe out a good half of his lifespan with just a few, consecutive roundhouse kicks to the head. When Miles proceeds to finish him off with a complicated maneuver that sends him flying off of the arena and to his doom, Gavin throws down his controller and calls the man a “cheating _minge_ ”, much to everyone’s amusement.

 

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Ray asks, looking like he doesn’t regret his idea of inviting the man to game night at all.

 

Michael rolls his eyes and takes a drink from his beer. “Who knows? It’s Gavin we’re talking about, here.”

 

“I mean, what—what— _where_ did that even come from?” Gavin complains, gesturing at Miles’ character currently doing a victory pose on screen.

 

“It’s a Power Blow, dude,” Miles says, giving Gavin his signature nice guy smile, and shrugs. This effectively placates the indignant man, and he plops back down on the beanbag, throwing his hands up in defeat.

 

“Bloody tossers, the lot of you,” he mutters, and reaches for his beer.

 

It’s hard to reconcile _this_ Gavin from what he’s seen in the club the past nights he’s been there: just a college boy sitting in his room, relaxed and playing video games, as opposed to that scantily-clad twink who smiles and spreads his legs invitingly up at that dimly-lit stage. It makes Michael want to step back and just _look._ Look at how much of a _person_ this man is—how there are still so many sides of him Michael has yet to discover.

 

And it’s surprising how the thought of it doesn’t scare him as much as it gives him this feeling of excitement. As if Gavin is a mind-boggling puzzle he can’t wait to solve.

 

When Kerry rescues the controller from the floor so he can take his turn and beat Miles’ sorry ass out of his leading position, Gavin slides the beanbag across the carpet until he’s just below Michael’s bed.

 

“You all right?” Gavin asks, looking up at him.

 

“I’m great,” Michael asks, smiling down at Gavin, who grins back at him. He looks so carefree, so unburdened at that very moment, and the normalcy of it catches Michael off guard. Gavin must have seen it in his expression, because he stretches out his foot until it brushes against Michael’s where it’s hanging off his bed.

 

“You have great friends,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip in a way that tells Michael he’s feeling really shy about this sentiment, as if he’s _thanking_ Michael for letting him into his life like this.

 

And it’s been quite a step, actually. Because neither of them miss the curious looks Miles, Kerry, and Ray keep sending in their direction every time they so much as glance at each other. Which is why Michael has been anxious about letting Gavin come in the first place.

 

They don’t need this…this _judgment_ from his friends. Michael had been afraid one of them would make an inappropriate question regarding Gavin’s part time job, but nobody’s even breathed a single word about what happened the first time they met the man. And that has been a huge relief.

 

Maybe Gavin’s right. He _does_ really have great friends.

 

He lets the sounds of Miles and Kerry swearing like sailors at each other while Ray cackles at their antics take the backseat in his brain and focuses on Gavin smiling sweetly in front of him like he’s the only person in the world right now. He takes a breath and nudges Gavin’s sock-clad foot with his own.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, hoping none of the guys are paying attention to them at that moment. “Wanna get out of here?”

 

Gavin smiles wider, his expression turning just the slightest bit cheeky, and there’s a promising glint in his eyes when he replies: “Thought you’d never ask.”

 

That’s all it takes for Michael to make up a bumbling excuse about buying more beer, knowing all too well that Ray can see right through his bullshit. He lets Gavin follow him out of the dorm and into the chilly night until they find their way to one of the abandoned alleyways near the building. Gavin immediately pushes him against the cold brick wall, his gaze heated as he crowds Michael’s space and their breaths mingle.

 

“Are you done?” Gavin asks, eyebrows raised at him, his voice a low whisper.

 

Michael licks his lips and swallows. “What do you mean?” he asks, pretending to be daft.

 

“Are done being a bloody knob?” Gavin doesn’t quite clarify,and presses closer so that their chests are aligned and Michael can feel the shape of Gavin’s bulge against his hip. “Because I can suck you off right now. I know you’ve been wanting to know what it’s like, haven’t you? Since that night in my flat?”

 

“Fuck, Gavin,” Michael breathes, and grinds against Gavin’s crotch despite himself, eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

 

“Good boy,” Gavin whispers, and leans forward to brush his lips against Michael’s. “Let’s make good on that promise, then.”

 

His lips are soft against Michael’s as he pries them open with his tongue, catching the back of Michael’s head with his hand before it makes brutal contact with the hard building wall. They just kiss for several moments, enjoying the fact that they _can_ , until it’s not enough anymore and the bulges in their jeans are calling out for their attention. Michael cants his hips forward until they meet Gavin’s, and the man lets out an approving groan.

 

“That’s more like it,” he murmurs, and sucks a kiss where Michael’s jaw meets his neck. It sends a tingle of pleasure down his spine and makes him moan, and Gavin smiles against his skin.

 

He continues the trail of kisses down his neck and collarbone, pulling up the hem of Michael’s shirt until his chest is exposed to the cold air, his nipples standing up at attention and practically _begging_ to be licked and sucked.

 

When Gavin bends down to do exactly that, Michael takes in a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering shut in a mixture of surprise and arousal.

 

“Jesus, Gavin, what are you… _fuck!”_

He can feel the man grinning around the sensitive nub, before he sucks it fully into his mouth, biting at the flesh lightly and pulling at it with his teeth, and then soothing it with his warm tongue. He’s _never_ had anyone do that to him before, not with the girls he’s ever dated, and it feels _new,_ and just really fucking great. He gasps when Gavin lets go of his nipple and moves to lavish the other one with the same amount of gentle attention.

 

“G—Gav…” His breath stutters when Gavin traps the nub between his teeth and lashes against the tip with his tongue, the pressure unending and making his dick twitch against the tight confines of his jeans. “Can we—can we just—”

 

“You want me to suck you off, now?” Gavin says when he lets go of his nipple, grinning smugly at him, the little bastard. “So that really gets you going, huh? Interesting.”

 

“I’m _not_ one of your research projects, Free,” Michael growls out, because fuck, his dick is actually starting to chafe.

 

“Yeah, but I really wanna study how you respond to certain, ah…stimuli,” Gavin says, a mischievous look taking over his face before he kisses down Michael’s chest until he’s in front of the straining bulge in his pants.

 

He starts working on Michael’s jeans, pulling it down along with his boxers as soon as he gets the fly open, and the man’s erection springs free, a bead of pre-come already forming on the reddened tip.

 

Gavin focuses on the pulsing flesh in front of him, taking the hard length in his grasp and starting to pump up and down. Michael is watching him from above, his cheeks a deep red as he takes in the sight of Gavin holding his cock in his warm hand.

 

Gavin smiles and bites his lip at him before leaning forward and laving at the head of his cock with his tongue.

 

“ _Fuuuuuck…_ ” Michael groans out, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation, and Gavin swirls his tongue around the sensitive tip, making him buck into his grasp helplessly.

 

He tastes the steady flow of Michael’s precome in his mouth, and it spurs him on, making him leave a trail of kisses from the tip to the base, and then moving lower, until Michael’s balls are in his direct line of sight. Michael gasps when he takes them in his mouth, sucking gently and massaging them with his tongue, before letting go and moving back to his shaft.

 

“Jesus, you _are_ good at this,” Michael whispers when Gavin starts sucking on the head of his cock. His wet tongue swirls around it in endless circles before he moves to swallow him down to the root and the tip meets the back of his throat. Fucking mother of god, does this man even have a gag reflex?

 

“Gavin—Gavin I—” he moans, a hand moving to tangle in Gavin’s hair as he fights against the urge to buck into his mouth, to fuck the hot, wet orifice until he comes in rivulets down his throat.

 

Gavin hums approvingly around his cock, making Michael’s eyes roll back in pleasure at the vibrations that envelops the sensitive length, before starting to move his mouth up and down. His lips form a _tight_ suction around the shaft, and his tongue won’t stop its maddening swirls around the head.

 

“I’m _close,_ Gav,” he says, tugging at Gavin’s hair and urging him to let up just a bit.

 

Gavin tongues the underside of his cock, causing Michael to buck his hips at the sensation, before letting him go with a _pop._ He sits back on his haunches and licks his lips in a maddening fashion, his gaze hot and heavy on Michael.

 

“Do you want me to finish you off?” he asks, glancing down at his cock meaningfully. Michael stutters, looking at the bulge trapped inside Gavin’s jeans. He takes a breath and shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says, biting his lip. He gestures at Gavin’s pants. “Pull…pull down your pants and get up here.”

 

Gavin smiles at that. “Pretty brave for a first timer,” he remarks, before standing up and pulling his jeans down along with his briefs. Michael sucks in a breath at the sight of Gavin’s dick, uncut and fucking hard, just a few inches away from his own. A drop of precome is already gathering above the slit, and Michael reaches forward to smear it around the head of Gavin’s cock with his thumb.

 

“You’re… _ah_ …you’re learning fast,” Gavin says breathlessly, and Michael takes that as a good sign.

 

“Not so hard when you’ve done it to yourself, before,” he says, and grabs the back of Gavin’s head to pull him forward until their lips crash together. He can taste himself in his mouth, and it spurs him on, causing him to push his straining cock against Gavin’s, and _fuck._

 

“You like that?” Gavin whispers against his lips when Michael lets out a stuttering moan and grinds against him wantonly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

 

“Feels fucking… _oh god…_ ”

 

Gavin bites at Michael’s lower lip and grabs both of their cocks with one hand, pressing their lengths against each other so that the undersides are fully aligned, and _motherfucking Jesus_ that feels really fucking great. He can’t help the way he tugs at Gavin’s hair and tightens his grip around his arm, grasping for purchase at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, because Gavin is thumbing at the heads of their pricks, spreading the precome around in delicious circles and jacking them off at the same time.

 

It feels so fucking _intimate_ , being this close to Gavin in such a way that their fluids are mingling, and every shiver, every pulse of their cocks can be felt by the other. It’s something Michael is _completely_ new to, something he’s never prepared for, and it sends him to a level of ecstasy he never thought he’d actually feel. He pants against the plush of Gavin’s lips, mouthing on the pillows of flesh in a desperate attempt to convey just how _this_...this act is consuming him—making him want the man even more than he does now, if that is even possible.

 

“Come for me, Michael,” Gavin breathes against his lips, followed by a brush of his thumb on his slit, and this sends him over the edge, moaning and gripping the other man tight as he convulses in his grasp, letting out blurbs of come that cover both of their cockheads in that obscene way Michael’s only seen in videos on the web. Gavin guides him through his orgasm, pumping both their cocks in a hurried pace until he’s following Michael over the brink, and they’re both panting against each other this time, shivering at the waves of pleasure coursing through their spines and making them slump on the cold, unforgiving wall, too far spent to even move a muscle.

 

“Fuck,” Michael mumbles after several moments of exhausted silence, eyes closed and head leaning against the brick wall. “That…that was…”

 

“Bloody top, wasn’t it?” Gavin says, chuckling weakly against the side of his neck, and what that means Michael doesn’t even know. He lets out a murmur of assent all the same, his hand tracing patterns on the back of Gavin’s sweat-stained shirt, and leans his head down so he can press a chaste kiss on the man’s lips.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” he says back, all too aware that he’s got a stupid grin on his face. Gavin mirrors it with his own, and they share another kiss.

 

“Jesus.” Michael pulls away at the sound of his phone chirping out a text alert in his jeans pocket. Gavin lets him go long enough so they can both pull up their pants and he can reach into his clothing to grab the offending device.

 

The screen shows a message from Ray: **_Don’t forget to actually buy some beer._**

****

“Fucking asswipe,” Michael says, rolling his eyes at the simple missive. Gavin glances at the message and lets out a choked laugh.

 

“Ray’s right,” he says, grinning madly at him like he’s got no care in the world, and Michael thinks it’s a great look on Gavin. “We might as well go buy some, if you don’t want your friends to tease the shit out of you when we get back.”

 

“I don’t want to go back,” Michael admits, because there’s just too many testosterone-filled assholes in his dorm room right now for them to actually get some alone time. He should talk to Ray about moving into a two-bedroom apartment one of these days.

 

“We can’t just ditch them, you know,” Gavin says, but he’s nuzzling Michael’s neck, still pressed against him like he’s got no plans of being anywhere else.

 

It takes an inhuman effort for Michael to gently push Gavin off of him and begin buttoning up his pants. “Next game night’s gonna be in Miles and Kerry’s place,” he decides, ignoring Gavin’s amused expression. “So we can go back to mine if we’re gonna, you know…”

 

“Makes you regret you didn’t take me up on my offer the first time, doesn’t it?” Gavin says, and Michael wants to kiss the smug look out of the man’s face. He does exactly that, and Gavin melts against his lips like a tub of ice cream under the hot summer sun.

 

Gavin’s right, though. Michael doesn’t think he’ll make the same mistake ever again.

 

\--

 

 

Ray’s twinkling gaze is enough to make Michael blush about seventy shades of red when they come back to the dorm an hour later than they should have, bringing enough alcohol to sustain the five of them (minus said man, who insists on drinking his stupid Gatorade every game night) until the crack of dawn. Gavin, seemingly oblivious to Ray’s shit-eating grin and looking happier than Michael had ever seen him, bounds into the room and flops down on his vacated bean bag.

 

“What did we miss?” he asks chirpily, pulling his legs up and folding them in front of him.

 

“Well, Ray just beat the both of us the last few rounds, so nothing much,” says Miles, rolling his eyes at that, because Ray beats everyone at _everything_ , the Gatorade-guzzling bastard. He turns to look at Gavin’s disheveled state, and raises an amused eyebrow. “I’m guessing you guys were up to something more exciting than we were.” Beside him, Kerry chokes on his drink and almost spills alcohol on one of their controllers.

 

Michael sputters from where he’s currently stuffing their beer into the mini-fridge. “Miles!” he yelps, almost bumping his head on the roof of the fridge as he hurriedly looks up, scandalized.

 

“You were gone for, like, more than a couple of hours man,” Miles says, shrugging. “And Gavin has this stupid look on his face. Like you two were—”

 

“Shut up! Oh my god,” Michael says, blushing crimson and glaring at Ray, who is close to snorting Gatorade out of his nose as he doubles over in his seat. “I can’t believe you assholes.”

 

“Well, we _were_ doing it,” Gavin begins, a red flush tainting his cheeks, but he looks like he doesn’t mind all the teasing. In fact, he seems like he’s _enjoying_ it, the traitorous fuck _._

“Not a word from you, either,” Michael warns, putting out a hand before Gavin could speak any more. “Seriously, fuck off, all right?” He glowers at all his friends, who are still staring up at him with barely-concealed expressions of glee. “I’m not talking about this with you guys, Jesus.”

 

“But Michael, we want to know!” Kerry says, turning on Ray’s bean bag to give him a wide grin, resting his chin on his hands as he looks up. “Tell us, was Gavin a good—”

 

“No! I mean yes—fuck— _shut up_!” Michael ignores his friends’ loud guffaws and the way Gavin _beams_ at that, and slams the fridge door shut. “Leave me alone, you bastards!” Embarrassed, he turns on his heel and shuts himself in the bathroom, drowning out everyone else’s exaggeratedly disappointed groans.

 

Back in the dorm room, Miles turns back to Gavin and gives him a companionable pat on the back. “Seriously, though. It’s nice that you two are hooking up.”

 

Gavin raises an eyebrow, but the red tint on his cheeks are not fading, nor the smile that had plastered itself on his face. “Um, all right, then?”

 

“Dude, that’s the happiest I’ve seen him in, like, months,” Kerry pipes in, leaning over so that he can catch Gavin’s eye and offer him a grin. “So yeah, you can keep sucking his dick for all we care, as long as—”

 

“Fuck, man, shut up!” Miles grabs one of the throw pillows strewn on the floor and stuffs it on Kerry’s face, which results in some sort of a weird wrestling match that is probably due to happen at least once every game night, from what Gavin has seen. He smiles at their antics and looks up to meet Ray’s amused gaze from across the room. Ray’s shakes his head with a snort, and raises his drink at Gavin as a gesture of affirmation.

 

“Kerry’s right,” he says over the exaggerated noises coming from Kerry as Miles struggles to bury his head further into the bean bag. “You’re good for Michael. You know that, right?”

 

Gavin tries not to flush even more at that, because he’s probably red as a bloody tomato already. “I hope so,” he mumbles shyly, and almost jumps from his seat when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket.

 

He pulls the device from his jeans and unlocks it to see a small missive displayed on his screen. It was from Dan.

 

**_Are you busy?_ **

****

Gavin looks up to give Ray an apologetic grin before he starts typing a reply to Dan’s message.

 

**_Game night w/ some friends from college. Why?_ **

****

It takes another few minutes for his phone to signal a new message, in which Gavin wonders what Dan could want from him that night. It’s his best friend’s day off, so he’s probably waiting for Gavin to come back so they can hang out like they always did whenever Dan is not outside hoping to score with some girls, or Gavin isn’t working his arse off in the strip club. Michael is already resurfacing from his mini sulk fest in the bathroom when Gavin’s phone vibrates again, and he gives the man a _“you all right?”_ smile before he looks down at the new message.

 

**_Can you come back early? We need to talk._ **

****

A frown takes over Gavin’s features as he reads the text, and he’s already typing out a reply when Michael props himself beside him, looking a tad more comfortable about his friends’ teasing gazes than he had been several minutes prior.

 

“What’s up?” he asks softly, putting one hand on Gavin’s thigh. His expression turns into that of mild concern when he sees the small, downward turn on Gavin’s lips.

 

“Everything okay?”

 

“I, uh,” Gavin looks up from his phone and struggles not to sound too worried when he speaks to Michael. “Everything’s fine. It’s just that…I need to get home, sorry.”

 

Michael is visibly unhappy at that, but at least he seems to be restraining himself from pouting. “You, uh, you got work or something?”

 

Gavin sighs and tucks his phone back into his pocket. “No, but there’s something I need to take care of with Dan.”

 

Michael _does_ pout at that, and he looks so disappointed and more than slightly jealous that Gavin has to smile and close the distance between them, never mind that the rest of the boys are probably watching right now. He kisses Michael softly on the lips, pulling back to give him a lopsided grin.

 

“Don’t be upset, you prat. We’re just gonna have a talk, all right?” He watches as Michael struggles to not make his pout seem too obvious.

 

“I’m—I’m not upset.”

 

“Good,” Gavin says, beaming at him, and gives Michael’s lips another chaste peck before he stands up and straightens his jeans. Miles and Kerry have finished their wrestling match and, along with Ray, are staring at him and Michael with a mixture of mild discomfort and barely controlled mirth.

 

“What, you’ve never seen boys kissing before?” Michael grumps, standing up beside Gavin and glowering at his friends. “Look, Gavin needs to leave already. Be nice and say good bye.”

 

“Bye, Gavin,” Miles and Kerry say in unison, waving at him exaggeratedly. Gavin rolls his eyes and waves back.

 

“Bye,” he says back, more than a little amused, and turns to grin at Ray. “See you around, Ray.”

 

“Knowing Michael? Yeah, I’ll see you,” says Ray, ducking when Michael grabs one of the throw pillows and throws it at his head. “Seriously, man. Take care.”

 

Michael offers to take him home as soon as they step outside the dorm building, and Gavin laughs a little before he’s kissing him again, fond and happy.

 

“I’m not some flouncy little git, you know. I can take care of myself?”

 

“Yeah, but—”

 

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Gavin promises, stepping back just in case they get carried away and he doesn’t get home for another couple of hours. Michael has _that_ effect on him, apparently. “Go have fun with your mates.”

 

“They’re idiots,” Michael grumbles, still not done with his pouting, although he seems to have been pacified by their last kiss. “Probably gonna mock the shit out of me when I get back up there.”

 

“You can take it, you’re a big boy,” Gavin says cheekily, and winks at Michael, who flushes.

 

“Fucking _fine._ Get out of here before I chain you to my bed or something.”

 

Gavin thinks about resisting the urge to pounce on Michael again. The man is staring at him, smiling with those bloody pink lips that are really just made to torture Gavin in his sleep. He groans and steps forward again, grabbing Michael by the collar and reeling him in for another kiss, which is really gonna be the last one, Gavin’s sure of it.

 

If they don’t actually separate for the next several minutes, Gavin thinks it’s simply because you gotta make good bye kisses count, after all.

 

\--

 

 

“I’m thinking of going back.”

 

It’s the first thing Gavin hears the moment he steps into their apartment. He’s greeted by the sight of Dan sitting alone in their kitchen, his expression somber.

 

“What do you mean?” Gavin says, removing his jacket and approaching the man. Dan shifts in his seat and hesitates, before speaking again.

 

“I figured I…I’d pay Burnie off and, uh, leave. For good.”

 

“Are you all right?” Gavin asks, now a bit concerned, and moves to sit in front of Dan. “I know we still haven’t talked about the other night, Daniel, but—”

 

“You’re shagging that guy, aren’t you?”

 

The ferocity of that simple question catches Gavin off guard.

 

“Look, Dan—”

 

“You’re not denying it. Great.” Dan runs a hand across his face and lets out a wry laugh. “Glad to know we’re keeping our promises.”

 

“Is that why you want to leave?” Gavin’s had just about enough of this little blame game. He glares at Dan across the kitchen table. “Dan, I’ve been working for Burnie for the last six years and you never complained about what I do. Why are you so worked up about this now?”

 

“Because he’s not one of your bloody clients, is he?” Dan says, slamming a fist down on the table’s wooden surface and making Gavin jump. “I don’t know _why_ you’re so keen on chasing after a straight college bloke when you’re—”

 

“I’m _not_ chasing after him,” Gavin says heatedly.

 

“What, are you two actually dating, now?” Dan says, his expression full of disbelief, and he leans back in his seat. “That’s really fucking fast, even for you.”

 

“You don’t get to say anything about this, Daniel,” Gavin says, voice trembling with mounting anger. “I never…I never said anything about the countless girls you shagged when you were doing the same thing with me, so you don’t get to act like a bloody jealous boyfriend, all right?”

 

“So, what, do you plan to do the same thing with him?” Dan challenges, crossing his arms in front of him and raising his eyebrows at Gavin. “Are you still gonna fuck me too?”

 

“Are you fucking serious?” Gavin clenches his hands into fists and quells the overwhelming urge to sock Dan in the face. “After all the…” He takes a deep breath and tells himself to calm down. “Look, Dan, I _like_ Michael. He’s…he’s a nice guy, and he cares for me. I want to—I want to try and make things work between us.”

 

A pained look appears on Dan’s features, and he seems so…so _lost_ that Gavin immediately wants to take back what he said.

 

“Dan—”

 

“I need you to answer me this, Gavin,” says Dan suddenly. “Why…why did you stay?”

 

“What?”

 

Dan looks him straight in the eye and continues. “When we first came here, and I got myself into so much trouble I knew I was a fucking lost cause. Why didn’t you _leave_?”

 

“Because I couldn’t bear to,” Gavin says, because this conversation is going dangerously close to something he doesn’t want to discuss. “You’re my best friend, Dan, I couldn’t—”

 

“Bullshit,” Dan stands and walks the short length of the table until he’s leaning down and crowding Gavin’s space. “You practically _whored_ yourself out for me, Gavin. I need to know _why_.”

 

Dan has this desperate look in his eyes, like he’s begging Gavin to just tell him the truth so he can find a way to wrap his head around this whole sorry situation, and has Gavin ever been able to deny him anything?

 

“I was—I was in love with you,” Gavin chokes out, and watches as Dan’s eyes widen at the statement. He feels a hand grip his arm with such force that it starts to cut off his circulation.

 

“Dan, you’re—you’re hurting me,” he says, grasping Dan’s arm and looking up at the man pleadingly.

 

“Then what’s wrong?” Dan asks, voice barely more than a whisper, still not letting go of him. “Why are you doing this now?”

 

“Because I grew out of it, all right?!” Gavin’s suddenly too angry to think about how much this might hurt Dan. He just _needs_ to get the fuck out of here. “You never gave one bloody _second_ to think about why I was still there, why I was putting up with all your rubbish when I could’ve fucking left you to rot, and I just got tired of waiting for you to come around.”

 

“But we—”

 

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking say that you reciprocated, because you were shagging girls left and right, Daniel. Even when we started sleeping together, you couldn’t be bothered to think about how much it was _killing_ me. So don’t you fucking dare.”

 

Gavin winces when Dan grips his arm tighter, and the man leans so close that they’re sharing the same breath. “You were doing all sorts of things with those blokes, Gavin. I knew I wouldn’t be able to—”

 

“I did all those things for _you_!” Gavin stands up from his chair and, with a sudden feat of strength borne out of anger, pushes Dan bodily off of him. “I _never_ slept with any of those men just because I wanted to, all right? I had to get us out of this shithole of a life, and if it meant doing those things to speed up the process, then I thought I could live with it. Michael was—Michael was the exception.” He watches as Dan face shutters at the admission, and the man turns away, his hands clenched into such tight fists that his knuckles are starting to turn white.

 

“So I was right,” Dan says, after a moment. There is a bitter quality in his voice that tears into Gavin’s heart. “I don’t have a place in your life now, do I? I really do need to leave.”

 

“What are you gonna do?” Gavin asks, frustrated, because the idea is so bloody ridiculous. Dan has no fucking _right_ to just leave. “You’re gonna fucking start stripping too? Because there’s no way you can just pay off what’s left of our debts with what you have right now, Dan.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about it anymore,” Dan says sharply. “I…I know some people. I can get you out of Burnie’s club, and then we can—”

 

“If you think I’m going to let you throw your life away again, then you’re fucking wrong,” Gavin says, cutting Dan off with a glare. “We got into this together, and we’re getting out of it the same way, all right? Nothing will _ever_ change that.”

 

When Dan doesn’t answer, he heaves out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll just…I’ll just be in my room,” he says, turning to walk out of the kitchen. “Talk to me when you’ve finally seen sense.”

 

Ignoring the way Dan seems to be fighting back tears, he makes his way to his bedroom. Gavin knows he’s _this_ close to breaking down himself, and they have to give each other some space.

 

Even if Dan actually gets back to his senses, Gavin has a feeling that, after tonight, everything has changed. And there’s no turning back—not after everything that has been said.

 

But he knows he’s still right; they’re just going to have to live through it.

 

\--

 


	11. Chapter 11

Gavin is frowning over his notes, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he scribbles additional information in the little space available. It’s not an uncommon sight, not for Michael anyway, since they’ve spent the last three weeks with Gavin buried headfirst into a pile of academic journals and reference books, on the prowl for any form of relevant data for his proposal. Even when they’ve started, well, fucking, Gavin would still get preoccupied and would ignore Michael in favor of grabbing his laptop and typing out a random idea just in case it might be of use later, which would then turn into a full-out research session, which meant Michael would have to wait for another couple of hours before Gavin would be in the mood to start doing other, more _fun_ things instead.

 

Michael supposes he should mind. Because, really, it’s not like he hasn’t just been dumped by a woman who valued her career more than she did their relationship, but for some reason Michael still understands. He knows the reason behind Gavin’s unerring focus, behind his burning desire to surpass his peers, and he can’t begrudge the man that. Michael would have to be an incredibly heartless bastard to come between Gavin and his only ticket out of this life paying debts he doesn’t even owe in the first place.

 

All Michael can do is be supportive. And what better way to support his boyf—this guy he _likes_ —by helping with all the parts of his proposal Gavin is having difficulty with? Michael finds it somewhat fitting to act as a consultant of sorts with the actual data processing, given that Gavin is some sort of information whore who sucks up data like a sponge and then ends up having so many things to process.

 

An approach that, by the way, Michael is actively working against by the data collection in the actual research proposal. It is taking an unreasonable amount of explanation to try to get across that _no_ , Gavin, you have to downsample these video frames, you can’t reasonably expect to analyze every pixel for repeating color values, yes, I _know_ there might be important information in those data points, but each video frame has like two million pixels and you’re taking sixty frames a second, so if you want the program to finish in the next fucking century, you’re gonna have to _suck it the fuck up, okay?!_

 

Michael has never been a total whiz at the whole signals and systems part of engineering, but to his relief, he’s at least savvy enough to analyze, collect, and filter information such that he can find repeating color patterns in a series of digital images. Nice to know his degree is useful for something.

 

Ray says it’s sweet that he’s taking the time from the pre-midterm panic to actually _write_ a program that will help minimize Gavin’s image processing workload, but it’s not like Michael can just watch the man spaz out over the blatant holes in his proposal and not do anything to help, can he?

 

It doesn’t hurt that the moment he said he would help, Gavin had promptly locked the door to his dorm room and ravished him where he sat. He had gotten to discover right then and there just how _talented_ Gavin’s tongue could be, given the right incentives.

 

So that’s basically the reason why they’re in his dorm now, with Gavin practically married to his notes and Michael fussing over the details of the image filters he’s trying to set up, and ignoring each other like there aren’t other, better things they could be doing at that particular moment. Michael’s brain is being incredibly uncooperative by reminding him of this every single minute, and the fact that Gavin is sprawled all over his bed like an invitation doesn’t help in the slightest. Eventually, Michael just gives a frustrated sigh and rolls his chair away from his desk, pulling off his beanie to turn and face Gavin where he lies.

 

“I’m fucking bored,” Michael complains, and Gavin just murmurs an “mm-hm” in response. Michael frowns and marches over to the bed, throwing himself over the man’s back.

 

Gavin gives a noise of protest and tries to wriggle out of Michael’s dead weight. “Gerroff,” he says, his voice muffled as his face is currently pressed against his journal. “Michael!” he adds, sounding cross, and Michael shifts his weight just a tiny bit so that Gavin can lift his head.

 

“You’re a wanker,” he declares the moment he resurfaces, and Michael can see feel Gavin pouting at the fact that he’s just been disturbed from what probably was a particularly productive moment in his research.

 

“Don’t care,” Michael says, and moves over so he can snuggle Gavin on the bed. “You’re working yourself too hard,” he whispers against the man’s neck. “Let’s take a break for a moment, okay?”

 

He hears Gavin huff, but at least he doesn’t push Michael off. He just snuggles closer and heaves out a sigh. He sounds really tired.

 

“I’m not…I don’t think I’m in the mood for anything _naughty_ right now, to be honest.”

 

Well, that’s new. Gavin usually gives in to Michael’s advances, when he isn’t doing the _advancing_ himself. “What’s wrong?” Michael asks, concerned.

 

Gavin turns to face him, and he can see the man practically chewing his bottom lip off. He looks really upset.

 

“Tsk. Stop that.” Michael reaches over to soothe Gavin’s lip with his thumb. “Did anything happen?”

 

Gavin lets out a wry laugh. “Dan happened.”

 

 _Oh._ Michael supposes they were bound to talk about that guy one of these days. Might as well get it off the table, now. “Okay.”

 

“He…” Gavin seems hesitant to talk, but he continues. “He wants to go back. To Oxford.”

 

“And just… leave you here?” Michael says, bewildered and starting to get angry. “What kind of asshole is he?”

 

“No, just…” Gavin reaches over to rub at Michael’s arm soothingly. “He knows we’re, you know, doing _stuff_.”

 

“Oh,” Michael says. There’s _that_ , and they haven’t even talked about what the fuck they’re doing, yet. Apparently Dan’s getting the right idea. “I…I thought he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

 

“He’s still jealous,” Gavin says, accompanying his statement with a brief shake of his head. “Not that he has any right to.”

 

“Well, to be fair, you’ve been doing stuff with him too,” Michael says reasonably, and pauses. “Wait. You’re not still…?”

 

“I haven’t been shagging anyone else, you bloody clunge,” Gavin says, punching Michael’s arm in annoyance.

 

“Ow!” Michael complains, and shields his arm from Gavin’s fists. “I was just clarifying, no need to get fucking upset about it!”

 

“I know you’re not gonna be okay with me doing stuff with other blokes, all right?” Gavin says, really sounding cross this time. He sighs and lays back on the bed to face the ceiling. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve been wanting to. Me and Dan, we’re… we were doing this because there was no one else for the longest time. Well, we were shagging other people—well, he was—but…we wanted a sense of normalcy, you know? Someone familiar to wake up to the next morning.”

 

“And now?” Because Michael has to ask. There’s no telling what Gavin has planned for him. For _them._ And frankly, Michael’s still too fucking confused to actually think about this in terms of an actual, long-term _relationship_.

 

“Now, you’re here,” Gavin says simply, and glances at Michael. He looks a bit unsure. “That is, if you’re okay with it.”

 

“Well, I’m _here_ ,” Michael affirms. “I’m not planning on running off this time.” That much he’s sure of, even though the rest of what he feels for Gavin is still something he needs to work out in his head.

 

A smile spreads across Gavin’s face at this, and he visibly tries not to blush under Michael’s stare. “That’s…that’s actually pretty reassuring,” he mumbles, not meeting Michael’s eyes.

 

“God, c’mere,” Michael says, and pulls Gavin over to him so that he can hug him tightly. “Dan can go fuck off, all right? I’m not leaving you for anything.”

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jones,” Gavin says, but he sounds happy. Like Michael’s words have done their job well in comforting him.

 

Michael huffs and buries his face in Gavin’s soft hair. “I’m telling you, I—”

 

**_Knock, knock._ **

“Fuck,” Michael groans and refuses to let go of Gavin. “Who is it?” he calls out, thanking the heavens that they had remembered to lock the door, just in case anybody came bursting in.

 

“Uh, Michael?”Ray’s voice sounds through the door. He seems quite hesitant, as if he doesn’t really want to intrude (and for good reason; Ray’s walked in on Michael and Gavin getting it on in their dorm room so many times he’s actually started knocking when he could be just using his keys).

 

“Little busy here, Ray,” Michael calls back, arms still wrapped around Gavin, who’s now mouthing on the side of his jaw like he actually wants to have at it while Ray’s still around, the horny bastard.

 

“Yeah, but—” Ray’s reply is interrupted by an oddly familiar, _feminine_ voice, her words muffled and incomprehensible through the wooden partition, as if she’s trying to speak quietly. Michael freezes in the bed, and Gavin, apparently sensing his unease, pulls away to give him a concerned look.

 

“You all right?” he asks, confused.

 

Michael doesn’t answer and instead sits up in his bed and stares at the door, listening to the sound of the hushed conversation on the other side. He _knows_ that voice. He’s been hearing it for the last five years, been hearing it _in his head_ for the last couple of months, and it’s never actually left. Just been relocated to the back of his subconscious, in light of recent events.

 

But it’s still way too fucking vivid in his brain, and now that he’s actually _hearing_ it again, everything comes back to him like a fucking tidal wave of combined misery and humiliation.

 

“Michael?” Gavin asks again, now looking really worried. He sits up and reaches out to touch Michael’s arm. Michael flinches, making Gavin pull his hand back with a hurt expression on his face.

 

Michael ignores Gavin’s look, because there are honestly too much going on in his head right now, and it’s all he can do not to run for the bathroom and lock himself in when Ray raps on the door again, this time sounding more urgent.

 

“Michael,” he says, and he sounds just the slightest bit upset. “I think you’ll want to see who’s here right now.”

 

“I—” Michael hesitates, glancing at Gavin, who looks like he’s finally realizing how much of a fucking _complication_ he is right at this very moment. He swallows and nods, standing up from the bed and grabbing his bag, his lips pressed into a very thin line.

 

“You need to answer the door,” he says, very quietly, and gathers his research notes from where they’re strewn all over the bed.

 

Michael nods shakily and stands up, smoothing his clothes down and, with a large intake of breath, forces himself to march over to the doorway. He unlocks the door and pulls it open, revealing an incredibly severe-looking Ray.

 

And, behind him, a hesitant smile on her face and looking just as fucking spellbinding as the time she left Michael in pool of depression and self-loathing, is Lindsay Tuggey.

 

“Dude,” Ray says, his brow furrowed in concern and he registers Michael’s expression. “Everything all right in there?”

 

“I, uh—” Michael begins, but Gavin beats him to it.

 

“Hey, Ray,” Gavin says, sounding bright and cheery as he wedges himself besides Michael through the narrow doorway. “Me and Michael’ve just been working on our proposal. I think he locked the door by mistake. Fucking knob.” He sends Michael an exasperated look and holds out his pile of research notes for everyone to see. “Now, uh… This looks _really_ awkward so I’m just gonna, you know, sod off. See you tomorrow.” He grins at everyone and walks away, leaving Michael staring at him and feeling like he’d been hit on the face by a shit ton of bricks.

 

“Michael?” Lindsay’s voice pierces through the fog in his brain and almost makes him jump. He looks back at her, knowing his face is really fucking ashen and he probably seems just totally fucking _scared_ , but yeah. This is _Lindsay._ She knows what she did to him when she left.

 

“Hey,” she continues, smile widening just a bit, and she steps closer, as if trying to see if Michael will back away. When he doesn’t, she sidesteps a protective-looking Ray and reaches over to pull him into a hug. “God, I _missed_ you.”

 

Michael sends Ray a pleading look, because the man seems like he wants to wrestle him off of her. _Not now, Ray,_ he thinks, hoping that his best friend gets the message.

 

And he does, because Ray is good like that. He nods, sending a _take care of yourself_ look in reply before walking away in the same direction as Gavin.

 

“Wh—what are you doing here?” Michael finally manages to ask, still frozen and unresponsive in Lindsay’s arms.

 

Lindsay pulls away, looking just a bit subdued at Michael’s lack of affection. “Well, uh. I’m on a break. It’s just for a couple of weeks but I thought I’d come back and, you know, tie up loose ends.”

 

 _And I_ _’m one of them,_ Michael thinks. He looks down and bites his lip. “What do you want with me?” he asks, after a moment. Somewhere in front of him, Lindsay lets out a sigh, and he can feel her lose whatever positive hopes she had left for this particular conversation.

 

“I’m really sorry, Michael,” she says, sounding just like it, and Michael knows she is. Because she’s Lindsay. She’d never hurt a fly.

 

Not unless said fly is an overly attached boyfriend with plans for the future filled with too many white picket fences, apple pies, and anything else related to nauseating domesticity.

 

He swallows and nods, burying his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I, uh. I heard you the last time you said it.”

 

“But I really am,” she insists, and _Jesus,_ just how many times can a person apologize for something she did deliberately? Michael can feel himself wanting to curl away from her pleading gaze, because he’s fallen victim to that look so many times. It just makes him want to pull her into his arms and kiss the fucking life out of her, and at the same time run so far away he wouldn’t have to be bothered by the thought of her anymore.

 

He’s just still _so_ not fucking over Lindsay. It’s going to take him a long time to be. Probably even never. Because _god,_ he had thought of marrying this woman and building a life with her. He had been _ready_ , and he had known he didn’t want anything else.

 

And now she’s here, apologizing because she’s decided she didn’t feel the same away, and that Michael wasn’t just a part of the life she envisioned for herself. That they weren’t in the same fucking boat with all this “ducks in a row” nonsense.

 

It _hurt._ It still does, probably even more so now that she’s rubbing the fact in his face with that utter remorselessness only those who really believe in their cause can achieve.

 

He speaks, knowing that he sounds like he’s trying to choke back a sob. _Jesus,_ he can’t even be bothered to be embarrassed in front of Lindsay anymore. “I don’t—I don’t _want_ you to be sorry, Lindsay. I want you to—” he pauses, glancing up to give her a reproachful look, and looks back down to shake his head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter what _I_ want. Because after all that’s said and done, you’re still gonna leave, aren’t you? So why the _fuck_ are you even here at all?”

 

Lindsay takes a breath and reaches over to touch his arm, but Michael jerks away. She pulls her hand back with chagrin. “I don’t…I don’t want to just _leave_ it like this, Michael,” she says, sounding like she’s _begging_ , and the utter irony of it makes Michael want to laugh. He would, if he didn’t already want to throw himself off of the nearest window. “I want you to understand that I still—oh _fuck_. I’m still _in love_ with you, but—”

 

Michael grabs her arm and pulls her forward, crashing their lips together in a kiss that spoke of just how fucking _messed up_ he is, still pining for this woman who spun his life out of orbit by choosing to follow her dreams instead of his, and is now standing in front of him asking him to _understand_ , like it’s as easy as that, like what Michael wants doesn’t matter _at all._

 

He feels Lindsay pushing him away, pounding at his chest in protest and pushing him bodily off of her. His brain decides at this moment to actually function properly and he lets her go, shocked and ashamed at what he just did. But the anger in his chest is roaring at him, overpowering his sanity and making him choke out a cruel laugh at Lindsay’s stricken expression.

 

“You’re still _in love_ with me?” he says incredulously, because _fuck this._ Fuck all of this. He’s not taking this shit from her. Not after all she did to him. “How the _fuck_ am I supposed to believe that? Even if it’s true, why are you—why the fuck are you telling me? What the fuck do you want me to do, huh? Beg you to _stay_?” He turns around and runs a hand through his hair, because it sickens him to look at her right now. “Because everyone knows you’re not gonna do that. You’re Lindsay fucking Tuggey, you’re just gonna—”

 

“I didn’t tell you that because I _wanted_ you to beg me, all right?” Lindsay says, voice shaking. She sounds like she wants to punch him in the face, and the part of Michael’s head that’s not already overwhelmed by the situation is thankful that she’s reigning her temper in, because a right hook from Lindsay would probably give him a concussion, if he’s lucky. She takes a deep breath and steadies her voice. When she speaks, she sounds relatively calmer. “I want you to understand that this is _hard_ for me too. But because I _care_ for you, and I want you to be happy, I decided to let you go. Because the life I want for myself is nowhere near what _you_ want for yourself. For us. And I’m not going to tie you down in a life you don’t want, ever.” She breaks off at this, like she’s fighting back tears and failing. Michael flinches and refuses to look at Lindsay, because he’s starting to feel something resembling guiltin his gut. “I just…I just wishyou cared about me enough to feel the same way.”

 

That awful feeling is now reaching Michael’s chest, compelling him to turn and look at her. “Look, Lindsay—”

 

“I’m still so in love with you, Michael. But more importantly, I _love_ you. That’s why I came back, because it _kills_ me that you never understood why I left. I didn’t want you to think about me—about us—in that way, forever.” Lindsay sniffles and wipes at her eyes, trying to calm herself down. She looks so alone, standing there in the middle of the deserted corridor, and Michael desperately wants to hug her close, to tell her that _Jesus fuck_ he’s willing to stop being mad at her just so she’d quit looking that way.

 

But he stays there like a fucking pussy, too wrapped up in his own hurt to go to her and tell that, despite everything, it’s _okay._ That the sight of her breaking down over this whole miasma of unspoken feelings and frustrations that spilled like a fucking dam over their heads is enough to make Michael rethink everything he knew about how their relationship ended.

 

He stays there like an idiot, clenching his fists and trying to quell the warring emotions in his chest. But then Lindsay raises her head higher and Michael knows that she’s mastered herself, because Lindsay is a trooper more than anything else. She’s probably a lot stronger than Michael ever will be, and it’s probably also the reason why he needed her in his life more than she needed him in hers.

 

“I guess it’s been an oversight on my part, you know, because I didn’t make you understand this before I left,” she runs a hand through her hair and gives him a wry smile. “I don’t…I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but I just—I just needed to get this out there. I needed you to hear my side, whatever fucking good it does.”

 

The words are stuck in Michael’s head, and he stays there, avoiding Lindsay’s gaze because he’s a stubborn prick. Lindsay nods, seeming to understand that she’s never going to get anything out of Michael at this point.

“I’m sorry, Michael, I mean it,” she says again, sounding so fucking _sincere_ and patient and Michael just wants to grab her and shake the fucking saint out of her system. Why can’t she fucking get mad at him when he’s been so ready to throw her under the bus after everything they’ve been through?

 

“I, uh… I guess I’ll just leave, then,” Lindsay sounds resigned, and Michael looks up just in time to see the heartbreak written all over her face before she turns and walks down the quiet, empty corridor.

 

Michael stays there for what seems like forever, Lindsay’s words echoing in his head and making him want to just fucking punch _something_ until he can flush the pain out of his system. But he _knows_ , deep in his heart, that Lindsay is suffering too.

 

And Michael’s never been able to watch her get hurt in any way.

 

It takes him about five minutes before he’s tearing through the corridor and down the stairs, chasing after Lindsay like his life depends on it.

 

“Michael, what—” He catches up with Lindsay just outside of the dorm entrance, and wastes no time before he grabs her arm and pulls her to his chest, hugging her tightly like he’s afraid letting her go would kill him.

 

“Please,” he says, his voice broken. He sounds so fucking pathetic, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “Please, don’t go until we fix this.”

 

“Michael…”

 

“I—I understand,” Michael whispers in her ear, and he feels Lindsay take a breath against him. “I just didn’t want to. I was—I was too wrapped up in myself to see it for what it is.”

 

“God, Mike,” Lindsay wraps her arms around him and he hears the sobs break out of her in waves. Like she’s been holding everything in all this time. “Michael, can’t we…can’t we go back to being the bestest fucking friends in the entire universe? Like, _way_ before, when we weren’t busy tearing each other’s clothes off and I was winning at Call of Duty because Ray wasn’t around to dethrone me? Because I fucking _miss_ you. Oh my god, I’m not used to this. I just can’t—I can’t imagine my life without you there one way or another.”

 

And Michael’s never been able to deny Lindsay anything, anyway. “Ssh,” he pats her head soothingly. “It’s fine, I’m not mad anymore. Don’t cry, okay? You know I hate it when you cry.”

 

“Fucking idiot,” Lindsay says, breathing out a laugh of relief and hugging him tighter. “I love you, asshole.”

 

“Love you too, bitch,” Michael replies a smile tugging at his lips, because fuckif he isn’t always going to love Lindsay.

 

It’s just…a fact. Something Michael is going to have to live with.

 

And if it means letting some things go to make way for other, probably way better, stuff, then Michael supposes he’s going to have to accept it.

 

\--

 

 

“Hey, Gavin!” Gavin turns from where he’s walking away from the dorm complex to see Ray running after him.

 

“Oh, hi,” Gavin says, stopping to let Ray catch up. He thinks for a bit before hedging a question at the man. “Is…everything all right up there?”

 

“God, I don’t fucking know,” Ray admits, running a hand through his hair and looking worried. “It’s Lindsay. I don’t think Michael ever got over her, despite everything.”

 

Then, apparently realizing who he’s talking to, Ray freezes and looks sheepish. “I…uh…Sorry, I forgot you two are…”

 

Gavin shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, even though he knows Ray is telling the truth. He _saw_ how Michael looked earlier. “I heard it’s been a rough break up.”

 

“You have _no_ fucking idea,” Ray says, shaking his head exasperatedly. “I was there when they broke up. Michael was such a fucking mess I couldn’t even get him to play Call of Duty with me. And he _never_ refuses to play Call of Duty. He just…went on a bender. And then freaked out and punched a hole in his monitor.”

 

“…What did Lindsay do, exactly?” Gavin asks, because he’s been _itching_ to know, ever since he’d seen how affected Michael had been at Lindsay’s mere presence. The time they’d started shagging, Michael never talked about her, and Gavin never brought it up either. Mainly because he figured it wasn’t worth discussing, but never because he thought it would be _such_ a sore spot. Michael did tell him that she broke up with him, after all.

 

He thought Michael was over it. It turns out the man is pretty good at keeping things like that covered up, at least until it rears its ugly head and takes a huge bite out of his arse. Just like it did earlier.

 

“She left him,” Ray says, simply. “Just like that. Sat him down one night and fucking told him that she’s moving to Pretoria to feed hungry African children and that he’s not part of her fucking five year development plan.” Gavin can tell that Ray’s not Lindsay’s biggest fan. He can practically _feel_ the scorn lacing his words. “I—I even called her and asked if maybe she can just, you know, ask Michael to wait? But she said it wouldn’t just be that couple of years, it would be a long time before she’s ready to settle down, if ever.” Ray scoffs and shrugs at that. “I mean, yeah, I sort of understand, but why fucking lead Michael on like that? They’ve been together for five years and then she just…ups and leaves? I just…I’ll never fucking get it.”

 

“Then what is she doing here, now?” Gavin asks, bewildered. Because nobody just _leaves_ like that and comes back after a few months, like everything would be okay with the two of them. It certainly didn’t look like Michael would be welcoming her back with a hug over some tea and biscuits. There’s a bloody Pacific Ocean of _butthurt_ right there, and Gavin knows it won’t be an easy conversation for either of them.

 

“Probably off to try and fix it, but I don’t know what she can do,” says Ray, and he sounds really concerned. “She’s pretty adamant with it being over between her and Michael. She’s never gonna go back with him even if he begs her to. Um—” He gives Gavin another apologetic look. “I mean, not that I think Michael would ever do that. It’s just that—”

 

“Ray, it’s bloody fine,” Gavin says, because it hurts his head to think about this subjectively, to know that Michael’s problem with Lindsay is directly related to him, and that whatever happens there will most definitely affect their relationship. “I just—I just need you to tell me if I should be worried about anything, all right?”

 

It takes a long moment before Ray answers him. “You know, I _would_ tell you that you don’t have to worry about them, but then I’d be lying. _I’m_ fucking flipping my shit, okay? Because I bet you dollars to doughnuts Michael will be back to square one after that conversation, and I’m going to be the fucking clean-up committee. It won’tbe pretty, I’ll tell you that.”

 

And Gavin is just about to tell Ray what sort of bloody knob he is for letting Lindsay get to Michael, but the door to the dorm building suddenly bursts open, making both of them turn and investigate the disturbance.

 

Lindsay storms out of the glass doors, and Gavin can see even from a distance that the woman is incredibly upset.

 

Ray frowns beside him. “That was faster than I—”

 

The door bangs open again, and this time it’s Michael who comes out. Gavin’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach when Michael shoots forward and grabs Lindsay’s arm, pulling her into a tight embrace.

 

Ray clears his throat at the sight, and hedges a look at Gavin’s direction.

 

“I, uh, I guess I didn’t expect _that_ ,” Ray says, sounding dumbfounded.

 

“I gotta go,” Gavin manages to choke out, because he can’t _bear_ to stand here right now and they’re still not fucking letting go of each other and _Jesus bloody fuck_ he really needs to _leave._

“Gavin!” Ray calls after him, but Gavin’s already walking away, not once looking back in their direction.

 

It’s not until he’s several blocks away from the dorm that Gavin allows himself to stop and take a breather. He feels completely and utterly like shit.

 

He wipes at the wetness threatening to spill from his eyes, trying to steel himself and failing miserably.

 

Fucking Michael Jones, promising things he can’t fucking keep.

 

\--

 


	12. Chapter 12

Gavin’s phone rings for the seventh time that evening. He ignores the device and forces himself to focus on making sure that the pair of tiny, detachable leather shorts he’s wearing is comfortable enough to dance around in on stage.

 

“Got a stalker?” Chris asks, glancing at him curiously from where he’s busy gelling his hair up in spikes.

 

“What?” Gavin says distractedly, and Chris sighs.

 

“Your phone’s been ringing all night,” he points out, turning to level him with a look. “You do know you don’t have to give your number out to customers, right? Things can get pretty creepy when you do.”

 

Gavin rolls his eyes and turns around to check if his ass looks good enough with the shorts. He _needs_ those extra tips tonight. “Do you think I’m some sort of a knob? Of course I don’t give my number out to those mingers.”

 

“I’m just saying,” Chris replies, putting up his hands in surrender, and turns back to the mirror.

 

“Lay off him, Chris,” Monty says, walking over to where Gavin is standing and giving him an appreciative look. “You look pretty enough to eat,” he says, and Gavin smiles at him gratefully.

 

“Thanks, Monty,” he says, and the man steps closer to pat him on the shoulder companionably.

 

“But Chris is right, Gavin,” he says quietly. “The people who go here, they…I’m not sure if they’re the right sort to be messing around with outside the job, you know?”

 

Gavin remembers that Monty is friends with Miles and Kerry and probably is aware, to some extent, of what exactly his and Michael’s relationship is. Not that it’s anything much of the sort, at the moment.

 

Gavin pushes the thoughts of Michael and Lindsay embracing like it’s the bloody end of the universe to the back of his head. No time for that, now.

 

“I’m having fun handling those blokes, it’s no problem,” he says brightly, because Monty is perceptive as fuck and would see right through him if he gave the man even the slightest sign of any trouble.

 

Monty gives Gavin a piercing stare before he nods, seeming to let the matter go for the moment. “All right,” he says, and walks away to the door. “Just be careful, yeah?”

 

“I—”

 

“You’re up, Monty,” Geoff walks into the dressing room, sounding businesslike. It’s probably a full house out there, it being the start of the weekend and all. Monty gives Gavin one last thoughtful look before he hurries off to the stage.

 

Geoff walks over to Gavin as soon as Monty is gone, and he’s got a small frown on his face. That can only mean one thing, learned from all the years Gavin’s worked for him.

 

“I’ve got a customer?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Geoff a grin.

 

“I’d rather you not, but yes,” says Geoff, sounding gruff. “So that means you’re off stage duty until he leaves.”

 

“I could probably make it quick,” Gavin says cheekily, because he’s gotten into the habit of making light of these situations. Partly because it pisses Geoff off to no end, and partly because it helps calm his nerves a bit.

 

The annoyed glare Geoff gives him in reply makes Gavin feel just a little bit better. “You’re not ‘making it quick’, okay?” he snaps. “Just…fucking dance until he’s drunk and bored, then get the hell out of there. Don’t make me tell Dan to watch the door.”

 

Geoff’s always been really fucking overprotective of his workers, but there’s something about his demeanor that makes Gavin rethink the scenario a bit. “Why are you so up in my arse about this? Is there something about the guy I should know?”

 

Geoff’s lips press into a thin line, and he lets his breath out in a huff. “He’s an old fucker with a lot of money to spend,” he says darkly.

 

“Just like all the other ‘old fuckers’ that have been paying me to dance since I started working here,” Gavin points out.

 

Geoff shakes his head and makes an irritated sound. “No, it’s just…I don’t like the look on this guy’s face, all right? So please, Gavin, don’t do anything stupid in there.”

 

“I can take care of myself, Geoff,” says Gavin, because it’s a nice gesture and all, but a horny customer is a _paying_ customer, and that’s all that matters to him, really. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you and Gus will be watching through the cams, right? You’ll know if I’m having trouble keeping up.”

 

Geoff doesn’t look at all reassured, but he sighs and gestures at Gavin to get a move on, because impatient customers are really bad customers, and that’s something that they’ve learned to avoid in this line of work.

 

The customer in question is in his early fifties, good-looking enough for Gavin not to mind dancing for him, and wearing an expensive-looking dress shirt and designer leather shoes that assures Gavin of his capacity to pay for whatever services he may require for the night. He knows he’s just supposed to shake his ass on the pole, probably sit on the man’s lap for a couple of hours and sweet talk him until he’s drunk and feeling extra generous, but Gavin doesn’t think he’ll _mind_ if the man wants him to do other, better things for an extra couple hundred.

 

He can’t _afford_ to mind, especially not when he needs all this money to keep going.

 

So Gavin grinds against the pole like he’s making love to it, letting the fabric of the leather shorts ride up his ass until his cheeks are visible for the man’s viewing pleasure, and he can see that the customer’s _really_ liking it. It doesn’t take long for him to put down his glass of whiskey and beckon Gavin over with one, ringed finger.

 

Gavin smiles coyly and walks over to slide over the man’s lap, making sure that his ass brushes against the growing bulge in his pants. “Hey there,” he says, giving the customer a heated look and fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Anything I can do for you, love?”

 

“I saw you that night,” the man says, settling a hand on Gavin’s face and smoothing his thumb over his bottom lip. “You were dancing on that stage, alone, in that goddamn school boy uniform and looking so fuckable that I immediately wanted to take you home.” That _had_ been quite the performance, according to Matt’s report of what had transpired during his little striptease, and Gavin’s not particularly surprised that he’d earned himself a few fans because of it. “But you disappeared right after, and I’ve been thinking about you ever since.”

 

“Well, I’m here now,” Gavin says, leaning forward to whisper in the man’s ear. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

 

He lets out a small gasp when the man slides his palm down to his chest and flicks a thumb against his nipple. “I want you to get out of those little shorts,” he says in low, commanding voice. “Show me what you didn’t show everyone out there that night.”

 

Gavin’s done a whole lot worse in his time, but he supposes he’s going to be asked to do other, _better_ things later, too. He keeps the smile on his face, all too aware of Geoff swearing at him from the security room, and thinks about just how much he’s going to earn come daybreak.

 

“Of course,” he says obligingly, and slides out of the man’s lap.

 

\--

 

 

“You’re really setting out to get yourself killed, aren’t you?!” Geoff yells at him three hours later, and Gavin tries hard not to roll his eyes in front of his manager. “I _specifically_ toldyou not to tempt the customer into doing anything extra, but you just had to do it! What the fuck, Gavin?”

 

“He pays well, what can I do?” Gavin says, shrugging. It had been a _tiring_ three hours, but the amount of money he’d gotten in exchange had been worth it.

 

At the look on Geoff’s face, it seems like his manager doesn’t see things the same way. “You’re toeing the line, Gavin. Don’t fucking tempt me.”

 

“I need the money, all right?!” Gavin says, temper flaring. “It’s not like I can pass up a chance like this when it comes. Besides, I’ve been doing it for the past five years. I can handle whatever these blokes throw at me.”

 

“Yeah? Because you look dead on your feet,” Geoff points out, and Gavin looks away. He sometimes forgets just how much of what he does Geoff sees through the cameras. This customer had been particularly _demanding_ , and it’s just as well that Gavin’s developed very good stamina through the years.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbles, all too aware that he’s probably too tired to get back on the stage and dance for the rest of his shift, and Geoff throws his hands up in exasperation.

 

“You know what, I don’t know why I even bother,” he says, and turns to storm out of the room, only to stop at the sight of a very familiar figure hovering near the doorway.

 

“…Burnie?” Geoff says, surprised.

 

It’s been a while since Cockbyte’s owner last came to visit, due to the fact that he’s basically made a name for himself in the local adult entertainment industry. Burnie Burns owns a considerable number of gentlemen’s clubs across Texas and is currently delving into the pornographic business, if Matt’s latest serving of street gossip is to be believed.

 

The fact that the big boss is here right now means he has extra special business in the club. Gavin wonders if he should make himself scarce, seeing as Geoff’s really not in the mood to discuss club matters in front of the employees at the moment.

 

Burnie raises an eyebrow in greeting. “Gus says you’re busy tearing Gavin a new asshole in your office.”

 

Geoff scoffs, obviously still angry. “God knows he fucking needs it, with all the work he’s so _eager_ to do.”

 

That _stings_ , and Gavin’s fists clench at his sides, but he keeps quiet where he stands. Burnie shakes his head and sighs, stepping forward to pat Geoff on the shoulder.

 

“Go grab a drink from Matt. I’ll handle this.”

 

And Gavin wonders just how knee-deep in shit he is at that moment for Burnie to actually take the time and talk to him. Geoff just nods, not pausing to spare Gavin a look before he walks back into the club.

 

“You okay?” Burnie asks, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. Gavin swallows and nods, giving his boss a strained smile.

 

“Never better,” he says, and Burnie gives him a considering look. “Well, uh, I’m sort of tired at the moment,” he admits reluctantly, “but I’ll just rest for a few minutes and then I can get back on stage, don’t worry.”

 

“Sit down, Gavin,” Burnie says, gesturing to the seat in front of Geoff’s desk. Gavin nods and does as he’s told. Burnie walks across the room and takes a seat in Geoff’s chair, still looking at Gavin with that thoughtful expression on his face.

 

“Look, Burnie, I know you got me out of that line of work in the first place,” Gavin tries to explain, “but I make sure I stay clean, and I—”

 

“Do you really need to make all that money, Gav?” Burnie asks, looking concerned. “I mean, I’m sure we’re paying you fairly, and it’s not like the tips here are anything to complain about, is it?”

 

“You’ve been great to me,” Gavin says earnestly, because Burnie has done so much for him, and he’d never begrudge the man this life he’d gotten himself into. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, really, but I just…I’m in sort of a fix right now, to be honest.”

 

Burnie crosses his arms in front of his chest, frowning. “Did Dan get into trouble again? Because if he did, I’m gonna—”

 

“No, nothing like that,” Gavin says quickly. “It’s…it’s about school.”

 

That earns a puzzled look from Burnie. “I thought you’re all set with, uh, whatever it is you’re doing there?”

 

“I, uh,” Gavin pauses, because he _really_ doesn’t want to talk about his fellowship application right now. Not after Michael’s left him for Lindsay and he’s been struggling to get the last details of the image processing running and functional. He can’t figure out why he can wrap his head around the geometry and physics of electromagnetic reflection and refraction but can’t, for the life of him, put together the filters that will give him the data he needs. God knows Gavin’s _tried_ ; he’s been writing what code he can and using the filter functions Michael’s already written, but the data always comes out hopelessly scrambled and wrong. That is, of course, when the program doesn’t just spit out indecipherable error messages that he can’t begin to figure out where in the code to look to fix them. He can’t figure out if it’s the order he’s been applying the filters or if the parameters he’s using are too tight or too loose or if there are any bugs in the functions themselves. In desperation, he’d tried to forego the filters altogether and just run the program on the raw image data, but he’d given up and terminated it when it had been running for six hours and still hadn’t shown any signs of stopping.

 

“It’s going through a few problems,” Gavin finally admits. “I—I might not get it after all.”

 

Burnie sighs and leans back in his seat. “So you’re earning the money, instead?”

 

Gavin bites his lip and looks down.

 

“I’m not in any position to tell you what to do with your body, Free. Christ, I’m the one who runs these clubs in the first place, but you gotta tell me if you want to turn my strip club into a goddamn brothel, all right?” Burnie doesn’t sound particularly angry, more like he’s _worried_ , but that doesn’t stop Gavin from feeling the guilt creep through his gut and settle in the pit of his stomach, heavy and uncomfortable and making him shift in his seat. “I’m responsible for you, and the moment it gets out that my employees are offering their asses up for sale for anyone who can pop in with more than a hundred bucks a night, everything we’ve worked for will be over as we know it. Okay? So just…try and be a little discreet, at the very least. For me.”

 

Gavin can’t bring himself to meet Burnie’s eyes, so he settles for nodding instead, the words stuck in his throat because he doesn’t know how to explain how he made the most moronic move of the century by entrusting a good chunk of his future to a man who’s still in love with his ex-girlfriend, and would throw away everything else—including Gavin—in a heartbeat to run into the sunset with her and live out the domestic fantasy he’s always wanted for himself in the first place. He doesn’t know how to tell Burnie that he’s stuck in a bloody limbo, with a half-finished proposal and a fuckton of unsolved problems he’ll never get able to fix without said man’s help, but really, Gavin’s just fucking _done_ with chasing around men who’ll never truly _want_ him, who just keep him around to fill a gaping hole in their sorry, miserable lives.

 

He needs to get through this on his own. And if it means doing it with his ass in the air, servicing horny drunkards with enough money to pay for it, then he supposes he can live with that, for the moment at least.

 

Burnie takes Gavin’s silence as a form of assent, so he nods and leans forward on the desk, his eyes trained on his face as if he’s appraising him for something. “You know what,” he says, after a moment, “you can earn the same amount of money—hell, you can earn a fuckload more—doing a different type of work. If you wanted to, that is.”

 

Gavin’s looks up at that, brow furrowed cynically. “What kind of work would I be doing, exactly?”

 

“You’d still be working for me,” Burnie affirms, “but in a different setting.”

 

“I still don’t…” Gavin trails off, because he’s starting to get an idea of what exactly Burnie is offering.

 

“Gavin,” Burnie says, leaning further across the desk and laying his hands on the surface in a gesture of magnanimity, “what do you think about getting naked on film?”

 

\--

 

 

 

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Dan says, standing up from his seat and meeting Gavin’s look with a death glare. “What the bloody _fuck,_ Gavin?! What’s Burnie thinking, offering you a job like that in the first place?”

 

“He’s looking out for me,” Gavin says defensively, because really, Burnie’s just trying to take care of his people. In his own twisted way, granted, but Gavin has learned to appreciate a caring gesture when he sees it. “If I work for him that way, I’d be clean and safe, and I wouldn’t have to deal with all those horny blokes in the club. It’ll just be like working in a real film, it’s just that I have to get naked, is all.”

 

“Does—does Michael even _know_ about this?” Dan demands, and Gavin can see how much it pains him to even say the man’s name, but Dan seems determined to show Gavin how much of an idiotic decision it would be to take Burnie up on his offer.

 

“He doesn’t need to know,” Gavin grits out, because he doesn’t want to talk about that right now, thank you very much. Dan pauses and stares at him.

 

“You plan on keeping this from him?” Dan asks incredulously, and Gavin looks away. “Jesus, Gavin, just how fucking—”

 

“It’s over between us, all right?!” Gavin interjects, and Dan stops, surprised. “It’s none of his business what I do now, so you can get that thought right off your head and—and _piss off_.”

 

Dan’s expression darkens at his admission. “What did that fucker do? Because I can—”

 

“ _No,_ Dan,” Gavin says exasperatedly. He doesn’t have time for this, and really, Dan’s mollycoddling isn’t helping anyone at all. “He didn’t do anything. We just broke up, yeah? Let it go.”

 

“Is this why you’re acting up?” Dan asks, and Gavin could really punch him right now.

 

“No, you twat. And I’m not acting up, okay? I’m doing this because I need the money. I’m not…I’m not gonna get the scholarship, after all.”

 

“…Oh.” Dan trails off, his expression troubled. He takes a breath and speaks again after a moment, his voice imploring. “Can I…can I do anything? Because I won’t stand here and watch you throw your life away just like that, B.”

 

“It’s really all right,” Gavin softens at the fact that Dan is just really _worried_ about him. He steps forward and takes his best friend’s hand in his. “Look, this is just temporary, yeah? I’m gonna get out of there as soon as I get enough money for my last semester. You don’t have to be worried all the time, B. I can really take care of myself.”

 

Dan frowns and pulls his hand away, shaking his head. “I’m gonna find a way so you don’t have to do this. Just…just promise me you won’t make any quick decisions. Please.”

 

Gavin knows he can’t promise Dan anything, but it doesn’t hurt to give the man the comfort of believing he will, for the time being. So he just nods and swallows, knowing that he’ll probably give Burnie a call the next morning.

 

“I’ll take some time to think about it, all right?”

 

But Dan’s not his best friend for nothing. The look in his eyes at Gavin’s words shows just how much the man believes his statement.

 

He nods and lets it go, however, and Gavin lets out a breath of relief when Dan retreats to his bedroom to brood.

 

There’s only so much Dan can do for him, and with all their history, Gavin doesn’t think he can trust the man to get him out of this mess when he’s never cared enough to try before.

 

He’ll have to take care of his problems on his own, just like he’s done all the other times. And really, it’s not like Gavin’s not used to it.

 

\--

 

 

“You’re going out?” Ray asks, opening his eyes blearily as he sits up in his bed. He gropes around on his nightstand for his glasses and puts them on to squint over at Michael, who’s tying up his shoelaces at the foot of his own bed.

 

“Having brunch with Lindsay,” Michael says, putting his finished shoe down and moving to tie the other one. “She’s leaving in a few days.”

 

“…Right,” Ray mumbles, sitting up straighter in his bed. “You still haven’t, you know, talked to Gavin?”

 

There’s a pause before Michael speaks. He voice is dismissive, like he always does when he’s trying to hide how he feels from other people. “He’s not answering any of my calls or messages. Probably fucking scared him off that night.”

 

Ray cocks an eyebrow at that. “And you’re okay with him doing this?” he asks incredulously. “I already told you, he saw that little scene you had with Lindsay outside the dorm. You didn’t even tell him he misunderstood?”

 

“I told you, he’s not answering any of my messages,” Michael says irritably. He stands up and grabs his bag from his desk. “Look, I don’t know what he wants me to do. I went to the club and they wouldn’t let me in, and he’s not even coming to class anymore. How do you think I can explain it to him?”

 

Ray sighs, running a hand through his hair and leaning back on his headboard to give Michael an exasperated look. “You’re not even bothering to fix this, are you?”

 

“If he doesn’t trust me enough to give me even the slightest benefit of the doubt, then I don’t see why any of this is worth fixing,” Michael growls, and heads for the door without sparing a glance at Ray.

 

And really, Ray knows his best friend is full of shit, because there are dark circles around his eyes and he’d seen how much the man’s face would change every time his phone would light up on his desk, hoping that it was finally Gavin who’d responded to his messages, and it’s not like he didn’t spend the last couple of days finishing the program he’d been making for Gavin’s proposal, swearing under his breath and thinking Ray’s fast asleep under his covers at three in the fucking morning.

 

_Not worth fixing, my ass._

 

\--

 

 

Dan finds a job waiting tables at an Italian restaurant in one of the busier parts of downtown. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s a job, and he supposes he could try and flirt with some of older, female customers to get larger tips. He tells Gavin this over breakfast and the man practically falls off his seat in surprise, like he doesn’t believe Dan would be patient enough to wait tables, much less hold two jobs at the same time.

 

He’ll show that wanker just how responsible he can be, given the right circumstances.

 

He adjusts the fit of his black shirt over his chest, making sure his pecs are outlined just enough so that a customer or two might be compelled to leave an extra twenty bucks on their tables as a gesture of appreciation.

 

After all, it’s not like Gavin’s the only one who can use his good looks to his advantage, here.

 

Sure enough, he catches the eyes of a group of ladies tittering over an array of menus, and he makes his way over to them, order form at the ready.

 

“Is there anything I can help you ladies with?” he says, knowing full well that his accent is working wonders at the women, who put down their menus in favor of giving him their full, undivided attention.

 

“What do we have here?” One of the women, a blonde, middle-aged lady in a white summer dress, props her chin daintily on one ring-encrusted hand and flutters her eyelashes up at him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

 

“I’ve only started working today,” says Dan obligingly, keeping a polite smile on his face.

 

“And how are you finding things so far?” another one of the women, a brunette in a yellow outfit this time, asks.

 

“Well, I’ve learned that American women are indeed as beautiful as advertised,” Dan says magnanimously, because he can really play up that foreigner card when needed, and that’s gotten him more than his fair share of lay through the years. “I guess I’ll be staying around far longer than I expected.”

 

The women all blush and titter at these, and Dan knows he’s got that tip in the bag. “So, what will you be having?”

 

They seem to remember they actually came there to eat, and the women start putting out their orders. “All right,” one of them says with a giggle, and continues, “I’ll be having…”

 

The door of the shop bursts open, alerting Dan to the presence of a new customer. He lets his eyes travel across the room toward the entrance, where a man with an all-too-familiar mop of auburn curls walks in, accompanied by a pretty, redheaded woman. They’re engaged in animated conversation, stopping only to let themselves be ushered over to their tables. He pulls the lady’s seat for her first, and she thanks him with an obvious familiarity only those who’d been intimate with each other can achieve. He just grins and settles down on the seat on the other side of the table, opening a menu so they can start picking their orders.

 

Dan’s clenches his hands around his notepad, crumpling the paper in his anger. _That man has the fucking nerve…_

 

“…and a plate of pasta in marinara sauce—”

 

He abandons his customers without a second thought, making his way over to the newcomers and not stopping until he has the man by the collar, lifting him from his seat and punching him soundly across the jaw, much to the shock of his lady companion and everyone else in the restaurant.

 

“Oh my god, Michael!” The woman stands up and rushes over to Michael, who lands in a crumpled heap on the floor. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?!” She looks up and glares at Dan, who ignores her, unfazed. One of the staff make their way toward Dan and tries to restrain him, but he shrugs him off with a strength borne out of anger and focuses on Michael, who tries to sit up, his lip bruised and bloody.

 

“You _fucker_ ,” Dan spits out, too angry to care about the fact that he’s causing a scene on his first day, because it’s so much more important to show this arsehole how much he’s willing to tear out his innards at the moment. “Gavin’s in deep shit right now and you’re—you’re here having _brunch_ with another woman? God, I should’ve just beat you up when I had the chance!”

 

The woman in question looks back at Michael, brow furrowed in confusion. “What…what’s he talking about, Mike?”

 

Michael shakes his head and turns to glare at Dan. “I didn’t fucking _ask_ to be cut out of his life, okay?” he says, voice hoarse as he wipes at the blood trickling from the cut on his lip. “He disappeared one day, and that’s it. He obviously doesn’t want me back, doesn’t even want to listen to what I have to say. What do you want me to do, force him?”

 

“Are you kidding me? You’re wondering why he’s not answering, when you’re here playing bloody house with _her,_ ” Dan says, pointing at the confused woman, who blanches.

 

“I…I don’t—”

 

“It’s all right, Lindsay,” Michael says, and he moves to stand up with difficulty. He takes a step closer to Dan, but doesn’t make a move to return his punch. “Look, asshole, you have no idea what happened between us, so you don’t get to fucking throw around punches like you have the right. You can’t just—”

 

“I can’t what? _Care_ for him?” Dan retorts, resisting the urge to sock the man in the face for the second time that morning. “He’s my best friend! I can do a hell of a lot worse when he’s running around throwing his life away, starring in a fucking porno because he has no other op—”

 

“He _what_?” Michael’s eyes widen at that, and he shoots out an arm to grab Dan by the neck of his shirt and pull him closer to his face. “What the fuck is that idiot doing this time? Tell me or I’ll—”

 

“He accepted Burnie’s offer to do a film,” Dan says with an eerie calm, eyes not leaving Michael’s own as he grabs his arm in a tight, muscled grip and forces him to let go of his shirt. “He says he can’t rely on that bloody fellowship grant anymore, and that there’s no other way for him to earn enough money for next semester. Tell me, Michael, weren’t you supposed to be helping him with that? What the bloody _fuck_ happened?”

 

Michael snatches his arm away from him, and runs a hand through his hair, looking desperate. “Where is he right now?” he demands, and Dan scoffs.

 

“I don’t bloody know where Burnie does his business, all—”

 

But Michael is already tearing out of the restaurant, through the door and onto the street, leaving Dan staring after him and the woman—Lindsay—seeming lost and bewildered.

 

“…This Gavin,” Lindsay says after a moment. “Are he and Michael…?”

 

“Yes,” Dan says with a wry snort, and looks back at Lindsay, who is considering him with a thoughtful look on her face.

 

“You know,” she says eventually, “I was going to kick your ass after what you did to Michael, but you seem like a nice guy after all.”

 

Dan frowns. “I’m just looking out for Gavin.”

 

Lindsay nods. “Same with me and Mike. We’re not back with each other, just so we’re clear.”

 

“Oh.” Dan suddenly feels mortified, because he basically accused Lindsay of stealing Michael from Gavin just a few moments ago. “I—I didn’t—”

 

“It’s fine,” Lindsay says offhandedly, and she takes a breath before jerking her head at the restaurant manager, who’s storming out of the kitchen with a murderous look directed at Dan. “Seems like you’re gonna get fired after that little scene.”

 

“Seems like it,” Dan affirms, swallowing at the sight of his boss angrily making his way through the tables and toward where they stood. Jesus, and he just got the job that morning, too.

 

Gavin’s going to have his bloody head on a plate.

 

He feels a warm hand on his arm, and turns to see Lindsay looking up at him with a small, kind smile on her face.

 

“Once you’re done getting your ass handed back to you, meet me outside, okay? You’re gonna fill me in with everything my stupid ex did while I was gone.”

 

“A—all right,” Dan agrees without knowing why he did, and watches as Lindsay’s pretty smile grows wider, before she’s leaving the restaurant and walking out into the sunny street.

 

“GRUCHY! GET IN MY OFFICE THIS VERY SECOND!”

 

So yes, Dan’s really not as responsible as he hoped he would be, and Gavin’s probably going to be mad as balls at him because of this little stunt, but whatever.

 

For some reason, Dan can’t really bring himself to mind.

 

\--

 


	13. Chapter 13

Cockbyte is closed when Michael finally gets there, panting heavily and sweating profusely from having run across downtown from the restaurant. He scans the front of the establishment for anyone who might still be left in the club, but all of the workers seem to have gone home, it being 11 in the morning.

 

Refusing to admit defeat, Michael crosses the street and makes his way to the back entrance where Gavin had led him out the last time he visited the place and got caught snooping by the bouncer. Sure enough, he sees Matt clambering out of the open doorway and heaving a crate of beer on top of an already tall stack.

 

“Hey, Matt!’ Michael rushes toward him, and Matt turns to look at him with surprised bewilderment.

 

“Oh. You’re Gavin’s—”

 

“I need to know where he is right now,” Michael cut him off, not in the mood to explain his predicament to the confused bartender. Matt frowns at that, crossing his arms above his chest as he stares at Michael appraisingly.

 

“Well, I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he says, the friendly air Michael had expected from him  gone now that he’s faced with someone he perceives to be a threat to one of the club’s prized dancers.

 

“Please, Matt,” Michael says, stepping closer and looking up at him with an expression he hopes portrays the fact that he’s not Gavin’s stalker, and instead someone who cares _deeply_ about him. “Dan told me he’s shooting a porno for Burnie, and I need to find out where he is right now so I can pull him out of it.”

 

“If Gavin agreed to do something for Burnie, then I’m afraid you can’t do anything about it, kid. I don’t think you should meddle either,” says Matt, unmoved. “Burnie has always taken care of him, so there’s no cause for you to worry at all. I’m sure Gavin will be okay.” He turns and makes for the door, but Michael stops him by grabbing his arm in a tight grip.

 

“Matt, you don’t understand,” Michael says pleadingly. “It’s _my_ fault that Gavin’s doing something like that, all right? I need to fix things with him—make sure he knows he doesn’t have to do this, that I’m not letting him go just like that. You _have_ to help me, _please._ ”

 

Matt sighs and pulls his arm away. “Look, I know you care about him and all, but it’s really not my position to—”

 

“Matt, it’s all right. I’ll care of this.” A voice sounds from the doorway, and both men look up to see Geoff walking out into the alleyway.

 

Matt nods and makes his way back into the club, sparing Michael one last, thoughtful look before he disappears into the establishment. Michael turns to Geoff, who is regarding him with a severe expression on his face. Not a good sign, so Michael decides it’s best to let his intentions be known before Geoff actually throws him out on the street in a fit of protective anger

 

“I _love_ Gavin, okay? I care about him, so if you think I’m here to mess him up—”

 

“California,” says Geoff, cutting into Michael’s heartfelt ranting with that single word.

 

“W—what?” He says, feeling his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. “He’s _where_?”

 

“California! Did you think Burnie’d be stupid enough to shoot a film here?” Geoff snaps, like Michael is an incredibly simple human being that seeks to try his patience. “If you want to see him, you’d have to book a ticket and fly to Burnie’s warehouse. It’s easy enough to find when you get to the city—everyone in San Fernando Valley knows him.”

 

“I…” Michael deflates, dropping his look and stepping back with a shaky breath. “How will I get to him on time?”

 

“Well, if you’re quick, you might still make it before they start shooting,” says Geoff, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure Burnie would want his actors well-rested and prepared for his films, so he’d give them a bit of a breather first.”

 

Michael is still stunned by Geoff’s willingness to help him, and struggles to compose himself for a moment before he voices out the most glaring question in his head: “Why are you telling me this?”

 

“Because I know you’re the only one who can talk sense to that kid,” says Geoff, taking a step closer and meeting Michael’s gaze head on. “He won’t listen to anyone else, so you gotta tell him there’s so many ways that film Burnie’s making him do is going to fuck him up real bad in the future.” He shakes his head and scoffs, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “You’d think that being a fucking physics genius would make him understand these things, but he’s really determined to be an idiot sometimes.”

 

“I’ll—I’ll make him see sense,” Michael manages to say, because Geoff is looking at him with what actually seems like trust, and he doesn’t want to ever mess that up.

 

“You do that,” says Geoff, and something in his expression changes, making Michael take a step back as the man stares up at him with a dark glint in his eyes. “Also, I’m sure you already know this, but just so we’re clear: if you break Gavin’s heart one more time, I’m gonna fucking come at you with my shotgun. I’ve been trained well in the army, so you can be sure I won’t ever miss.”

 

Michael gulps and nods. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

 

“Great.” Geoff’s face clears up at that, and he crosses his arms over his chest,  nodding his chin over to the street and raising an eyebrow at Michael. “Now, what the fuck are you waiting for?”

 

—

 

 

Miles is currently sweeping Kerry’s ass off the floor in DDR when his phone vibrates in his pocket, signaling a call.

 

He ignores it, opting to finish the stage with several well-placed steps, and stomps on the dance pad with practiced flourish as he performs the final movements. Beside him, Kerry groans and jumps off the DDR machine, looking quite worn-out from the strain of trying to beat his overly-enthusiastic best friend.

 

“I swear, you dance like you’ve been chugging Red Bull all day,” says Kerry, shooting him an exhausted glare as he leans against the back rail of the machine.

 

“Monty’s been teaching me,” says Miles, making Kerry wonder just how much time those two are spending with each other when he’s not around. It makes him feel a bit left out, if he’s to be honest.

 

“Oh, don’t look like that,” says Miles, rolling his eyes at Kerry. “It’s not like I have to inform you every time I hang out with all my other friends.”

 

“You’re keeping Monty all to yourself,” Kerry pouts. “If I remember correctly, we’re _both_ friends with him. So I also get to reap the benefits of his DDR prowess, all right?”

 

Miles sighs. “Well, if you’re so keen on spending time with him, why don’t you—” His reply is cut off by another bout of vibrations in his pocket. He frowns, pulls out his phone, and sees Michael’s name blinking on the wide screen.

 

Miles slides the call button and puts the device next to his ear. “Yeah?”

 

_“Miles, can you tell Ray to pass my homework on Control Systems for me today? I tried calling him but he’s probably sleeping in.”_

 

“Okay, but why? Are you skipping a lot of classes again? Because really, midterms are like—”

 

 _“I **have** to skip class probably until Thursday,” _ says Michael, sounding harried over the phone. _“I’m flying to California. I just bought a ticket and I’m taking the 3:30 PM plane to LAX.”_

_“What?”_ Miles barks into the phone, surprised. “What the hell are you going to LA for?!” Kerry, apparently hearing him, walks over with a concerned look on his face.

 

It takes a moment before Michael sighs and proceeds with an explanation. _“It’s Gavin, all right? He’s gone to California and I need to get to him and tell him how much of a fucking idiot he is.”_

 

Miles is even more confused. “I don’t—”

 

He hears Michael huff and exasperated breath. _“Look, I have to do this, okay? Or else Gavin will mess his life up really bad and I can’t let him do that. Just—just tell Ray what I told you, all right?”_

 

“But Mike—”

 

_“C’mon, Miles, please?”_

Miles bites his lip and eyes a bewildered Kerry helplessly, before conceding. “Fine,” he says, after a couple of seconds. “Just…take care of yourself, okay?”

 

_“You’re awesome, dude.”_

Michael hangs up at that, leaving Miles to pull his phone away from his ear and lean against the railing of the DDR machine with his elbows. Kerry watches him run a hand through his hair anxiously, and speaks.

 

“What’s wrong? Was that Michael?” he asks, worried.

 

“He’s flying to LA,” Miles says.

 

“When?”

 

“3:30 PM,” he says, and lets the surprised noise Kerry makes in response wash over him, like he’s expected it already.

 

“What the fuck? _Why?”_

Miles straightens up from the railing and tucks the phone back into his pocket. He looks up and flashes Kerry a small, knowing grin.

 

“You know Michael,” he says, after a moment. “Always willing to go to the ends of the earth when he cares about someone.”

 

Kerry’s face shows a dawning understanding of the situation. “You mean Gavin’s…?”

 

“Yep,” Miles nods sagely, and shrugs his shoulders. “What do you know, man. It seems like our dear Michael’s well and utterly _whipped_.”

 

—

 

 

“Have you read the script?” Burnie’s voice invades Gavin’s head space, and he turns from his seat to find his boss looking down at him, two cups of coffee in hand. He offers one to Gavin, who takes the beverage with a grateful nod.

 

“Uh, yeah, it’s…um…”

 

“I know it’s not gonna make the _Publishers’ Weekly_ , Gavin, so you can save the bullshit,” Burnie says, chuckling. “Besides, it’s not like any of our viewers will be paying attention to the characters’ witty banter or anything.”

 

Gavin’s literature professor from freshman year would despair over the plot, and the dialogue is absolute cringe-worthy, but it’s a porno, and he supposes it’s better in the long run to spew out clichéd one-liners if it means spending less time on screen.

 

“Oh yeah, have you met Joel?” Burnie points to the man sitting on the other side of the warehouse, engaged in an animated conversation with one of the make-up crew. He’s tall and tanned, with dark hair and a lean, muscly build, just like Dan. “He’s gonna be your, uh, screen partner for the scene.”

 

Joel looks the type of guy who’d really fit into a stereotypical gay fantasy of two men sucking each other off in an engine repair shop, and _Jesus bloody fuck_ Gavin is really doing this on camera with an absolute stranger, isn’t he?

 

He brings the cup of coffee to his lips, downing the hot, bitter liquid like it’s a form of penance. Burnie, apparently sensing Gavin’s unease, leans down and puts a warm hand on his shoulder.

 

“Look, you can still back out, all right?” his boss says, staring at him with concern. “I’m not…I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m just saying this is an option. A _safer_ option, given the things you’re bound to do in my club, anyway. I’d rather be able to keep an eye on you here than lend you out to those perverted assholes in the VIP room.”

 

Gavin knows that Burnie is making a fuckload of sense, but this is something that will be recorded on camera and stored forever in someone’s bloody hard drive, something that his mum might see if she ever tries to look up his name on the internet out of curiosity one of these days, and the thought of her seeing his naked ass in the air being pounded by a random stranger over the hood of an ’87 Chevy Camaro sickens Gavin more than he can ever hope to explain.

 

“Can I…can I use a screen name?” Gavin asks faintly, and Burnie sighs, reaching over to ruffle his hair fondly.

 

“Of course,” he says, voice soft. Burnie straightens up after a moment, clearing his throat, and nods over to one of the production crew running around in the large room.

 

“If you’re having problems with, you know, _getting ready_ , you can ask one of my guys for help.” His tone is businesslike now, because this is how they run things in this industry and Burnie’s never shied away from that kind of talk, anyway. “Or you and Joel can get to know each other ahead of time. Entirely up to you.”

 

Gavin swallows and nods, wondering if he should just lock himself up in the toilet and wank himself to hardness instead. He decides to do just that, because he’s probably going to have a bit of a cry sometime through it, too, and he doesn’t think letting Joel in on his pre-shoot apprehensions is a great start to his career in the pro-amateur porn enterprise.

 

“So you’re the new kid,” a voice from behind him speaks, and he turns to see Joel smiling at him with the cocksure air of a man entirely comfortable with getting naked in front of fifty or so people, not to mention the thousands of others waiting to view his recorded sex acts through their computer screens. “I’m Joel Heyman. Nice to meet you.”

 

Gavin takes the proffered hand and shakes it hesitantly. “I’m, uh, I’m Gavin Free.”

 

“Screen name?” Joel asks, and Gavin shakes his head with a wry grin.

 

“Still thinking about it,” he says, biting his lip apprehensively.

 

“Well, Gavin Free, I’m pretty sure you’ll do well,” Joel says, clapping him on the shoulder companionably like they’re not going to have rough, recorded sex on camera half an hour later. The air in this bloody studio confuses Gavin, like nobody’s really sexually attracted to anyone; it’s just that they have to _act_ like it, and the _transactionality_ of it is so familiar, yet so _different_ from what Gavin has grown used to, working in Burnie’s club under the heated stares of his drunken customers.

 

“Th—thanks,” he manages to choke out, and Joel smiles at him before cocking his head over to one of the couches brought in around the set.

 

“So you wanna run over some lines before we shoot?”

 

“I’d like that,” Gavin says, nodding even though he has, like, seven bloody lines that don’t include _fuck me,_ or _harder,_ or _more, just like that, yeah,_ repeated over and over until it’s become a fucking mantra in his head. He sets down his coffee and follows Joel to the couch, hands shaking as they hold the compact script Burnie had blazed through just a couple of nights before filming officially started.

 

“Relax,” Joel says, soothing and friendly, and pats the seat next to him.

 

Gavin sits down stiffly, propping the script on his lap and flipping to the start of their scene. “So, uh, I’m supposed to drive in with the car and, um…”

 

“I’m playing the mechanic, so I’ll ask you what the problem with car is, and then you…seriously, Gavin, are you okay? Your hands are shaking.”

 

“I’m—I’m fine,” Gavin says, even though he knows his face is ashen by now. Bloody hell, they’re not even filming the scene yet. _Get your act together, Free._

“Hey, hey Gav, look at me.” Joel leans forward and takes Gavin’s shoulders in hand, turning him so that they’re face to face. “It’ll be fine, all right? I was the same when I started doing this, but it gets better when you get past the fact that people are watching you do it. Actually, it helps if you come to _like_ that sort of thing.” He waggles his eyebrows playfully at Gavin, who thinks, _that’s_ exactly _the problem, you sod!_

Which is really strange, considering that he finds no trouble stripping on stage in front of a whole audience of horny men, yet he’s so uncomfortable with this…this controlled environment where people aren’t even paying attention to the couple of good-looking men walking around in their studio unless they actually have to film them or prepare them for a scene. Gavin doesn’t _need_ these sudden qualms, not right now when he’s got a huge wad of cash basically served up to him on a silver platter, and all he has to do is bend over for this ridiculously handsome bloke in front of him, like that’s ever been a problem for him, before.

 

Joel sighs and pats Gavin’s arm with one hand. “Look, I don’t normally do this, but whatever. You look like you’re gonna need all the help you can get. Try, um, try imagining me as whoever guy—or girl, if you actually swing that way—that you like, and see if you can get comfortable with that image in your head, okay?”

 

Gavin takes a deep breath and swallows. “I’ll try,” he concedes, and proceeds to imagine Joel with brown, messy curls and a smattering of freckles across his nose.

 

“It’s not working,” he says, frowning, because really, that kind of look doesn’t suit Joel _at all._

 

“Close your eyes, idiot,” Joel says, snorting, and Gavin does as he’s told.

 

The image is clearer now: it’s Michael who’s in front of him, grinning at Gavin with that fond, exasperated look he always has on whenever they’re having problems with his research proposal that the man can fix with his superb engineering genius. And _god_ , is this really a good idea? Because all Gavin wants to do now is curl up in a heap and sob a little on his side of the couch, never mind that he’ll look like a bloody minger in front of Joel and everyone else.

 

“Are you thinking about him now?” Joel’s voice pierces through the haze in his brain, and Gavin nods, unsure about where this is going.

 

“Great, now kiss me.”

 

“What?”

 

“Jesus, are you a virgin or something? Kiss me, make out with me, suck my dick for all I care. Just…try to get the image in your head that you’re doing it with that special someone, all right?”

 

“Are you serious?” Gavin says, and he tries to open his eyes, but Joel just lets out an annoyed huff of breath and grabs him by the back of his neck, pulling him forward until their lips meet in a soft kiss.

 

And it’s not like Michael at all, because Joel kisses differently—his lips feel entirely different from Michael’s, and the stubble on the porn star’s jaw is nothing like Michael’s smooth-shaven skin as he trails a set of kisses down Gavin’s neck. “I don’t know if this is…” Gavin begins, because it’s not like Joel’s bad at it, it’s just that he’s confused is all, and maybe they should just stop with this weird pretend nonsense, but Joel just grunts and sucks at the hollow of Gavin’s throat.

 

“Don’t let go of that thought,” he warns, his hand tangling in Gavin’s hair and pulling his head back to bare his neck fully. “It’ll make things a lot easier, trust me.”

 

“But—” Gavin protests, and he tries to pull away from the man. “Are you sure this is really gonna w—”

 

“Get your fucking hands off of him!” Gavin freezes at the sound of that voice, belonging to the man whose image haunts his brain.

 

He turns to look at the entrance to the warehouse, where Michael is standing, panting heavily and glaring daggers at him and Joel. Michael shoots toward them, sidestepping all of the production crew with surprising agility, and grabs Joel by scruff of his neck to throw him bodily off the couch.

 

“Michael, what—how did you—”

 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Michael says, and turns to grab Gavin by the arm and pull him into a standing position.

 

“ _No!_ ” Gavin says, wrenching his hand away from Michael and glaring angrily at him. “This is none of your business, all right? So leave before Burnie throws you out on your bloody arse!”

 

“It’s none—” Michael huffs out an incredulous laugh and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s none of my business?! You’re my fucking boyfriend and you’re just—you’re just gonna throw me away like that, like I don’t matter at all?”

 

“If I remember correctly, it’s _you_ who threw me away,” Gavin retorts, lips curling up in a sneer. “You’ve got Lindsay back, right? Why don’t you go back to your little, happy life together instead of getting up in my business like—”

 

“Fucking _Christ,_ Gavin, we’re _not_ back together!” Michael yells, cutting into Gavin’s tirade and throwing his arms up exasperatedly. “If you _bothered_ to even answer one of my calls or read any of my messages, you would know that, but you didn’t! You just…you just decided that it’s over without even giving me a chance to explain!”

 

Gavin falls silent at that, and he stands there, breathing heavily with a dumbfounded look on his face. “You…you wh—”

 

“ _God!_ I could fucking _kill_ you right now!” Michael growls, frustrated. “Is that—is that why you’re doing this?! Because you were too proud to even—”

 

“B—but you were hugging her!” Gavin sputters out, his brain still refusing to process what Michael is trying to make him understand, and Michael just lets out a long-suffering sigh.

 

“We’re best friends, you idiot! We were making up! That’s what people who want to be friends again do!” He puts a hand to his face and rubs at his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “If you stayed around long enough to ask us about it, you would’ve known that!”

 

Gavin is quiet again, and he stands there, lip wobbling as he tries to blink back tears, a tidal wave of combined embarrassment and relief flowing through his chest. _Now’s not the time to lose your shit in front of everyone, Free. Don’t…don’t fucking…_

“Oh god, c’mere you asshole,” Michael says with another sigh, and pulls Gavin against his chest and into a tight embrace. “You’re just really out to kill me, aren’t you? Making me worry about you enough to lose my head?” His hold is warm around Gavin, and that sends another bout of shuddering breath from the man as he tries not to break down in Michael’s grasp.

 

“Well, uh, I don’t know who you are, but I really don’t think yelling at the poor kid is going to—”

 

“Who fucking asked you?” Michael snaps at Joel, who raises hands in surrender and stalks away from the still-seething newcomer in case punches are going to be thrown.

 

“Don’t yell at Joel,” Gavin mumbles against Michael’s solid warmth, sniffling. “He was just trying to help.”

 

“By sucking at your neck?” Michael responds darkly, and Gavin pulls away to give him a look.

 

“He’s going to do a whole lot worse when we start filming, you know,” he tries to explain.

 

All the color from Michael’s face drains at that. “You’re—you’re not still—”

 

“I need to, Michael,” Gavin says, biting his lip and staring up at him apologetically. “The…the fellowship application’s due in a couple of days and I don’t think I can—”

 

“Bullshit,” Michael interjects, and, for some reason, zips open his backpack to rummage through its contents. Gavin watches, bewildered, as the man pulls out a small flash drive and hands it over to him with an angry flourish.

 

“Wh—what’s this?” he asks, staring down at the small device.

 

“It’s the image processing software, idiot,” Michael bites out, and Gavin looks up at him, mouth open in surprise.

 

“You…you finished it?” he finally manages to say. “Why?”

 

“Does it fucking matter? Of course I’m gonna finish it, I said I would!” Michael growls, blushing, and Gavin just really wants to kiss the life out of him right now. “I promised you, didn’t I? And I saw your attempts to finish when I went down to test the original footage; were you trying to parse the color values into the comparison arrays as three individual values? I told you a thousand goddamn times the filters expect the color input as tuples— _mmph!_ ”

 

Gavin does kiss the life out of him, throwing himself at Michael and latching onto his lips like he’s afraid letting go would end the universe as it is, and Michael lets out a low, approving sound before he’s kissing back, wrapping his arms around Gavin possessively. It seems like forever before they both pause to take a breath, still staring at each other’s eyes like there’s no one else that matters, and maybe there really isn’t, maybe it’s just the two of them on this entire bloody planet who can take each other for what they are without even a shred of doubt or regret. Because this…this _thing_ they have with other? Is so fucking worth all the shit Gavin will have to endure, just so he can have it for the rest of bloody eternity.

 

And what makes his breath hitch like he’s been struck by a speeding bullet is the fact that, with Michael, it’s always _easy,_ that the man—unlike everyone else in his life—never asks for anything in return. It’s so bloody confusing yet so simple, this fact that Michael keeps insisting, keeps making him see even though Gavin’s been so _jaded_ ever since his life started going downhill: that he’s here for him, that he won’t ever leave, and Gavin’s just going to have to _trust_ him on that.

 

It looks like Gavin won’t even have to _endure_ anything, after all.

 

\--

 


	14. Epilogue

_“So how’s the boyfriend?”_ Lindsay chirps over the phone, and Michael can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s totally _enjoying_ this, the fact that he’s dating a guy now, who also happens to be a former stripper and is really quite attractive as well as mind-blowingly smart. She’d even talked about birthing babies for them, the little shit, which he quickly opposed by stating, in a tone that he supposed perfectly conveyed the fact that he’s taking absolutely _none_ of her crap, that in order to do so she’d have to _have_ babies and wasn’t that what she was avoiding in the first place? Having his and Gavin’s manbabies are probably just gonna be the same thing, and he’s _not_ letting her skimp on her motherly duties if that so happens, thank you very much. Lindsay had replied with a scoff and said that she was just messing anyway, and that Michael should probably be the one giving birth; he’s so fucking full of angry hormones already that he might as well be eight months pregnant. And Lindsay cannot be disputed on that because she is, after all, the Expert on Michael’s Pseudo-Pregnant Bitching.

 

He wonders if this is how exes should talk to each other, especially people with so much history between them like him and Lindsay, but for some reason it all works out. He couldn’t be happier with the way things are, with Gavin in his life and not looking like he wants to be anywhere else, with the fact that so many things are settling in place like he’d always wanted them to, just with someone different this time, someone completely unexpected but had, in all intents and purposes, taken his breath away with how everything about him just kind of _fits._

He’d told Lindsay about this, too, and had to suffer a few uncomfortable minutes of the woman trying not to sob on the other side of the line as she struggled to voice out how fucking _happy_ she was for Michael, how fucking _relieved_ she was that everything is coming together full-circle, that he’s being taken care of, and that she doesn’t have to worry about him anymore. Michael just huffed and told her to, “calm down, woman, my life is not a fucking Hallmark drama, all right? You don’t have to fucking tear up every time I relate Gavin with something nice.”

 

 _“But you’re just too **adorable**!” _ Lindsay had cooed over the line, and Michael groaned out, wishing that she’d stop treating them like a pair of fucking hamsters being dressed up in matching costumes for Halloween.

 

But this is Lindsay, and apparently if she’s not screwing Michael she’d still be pushing herself into his life one way or another (despite a stupid, really unnecessary, unexplained attempt at shutting him out of her life for a couple of months after their initial break up), and she probably thinks acting like a mollycoddling sister to Michael is the best way to assert her presence and remind him that she still _cares a whole fucking lot._

 

Not that Michael thinks she doesn’t. She’s made that fact clear, thank you very much, and Michael thinks that maybe it doesn’t hurt to humor his ex-girlfriend-turned-best friend just a little bit, if she’s being so fucking insistent on it. It just gets sort of annoying, sometimes, like when she calls out of the blue to check on them, as if making sure they’re still together and Michael hasn’t scared Gavin off by his tendency to make frighteningly aggressive life plans.

 

He’s trying to keep that on the down low, yes, but Gavin doesn’t seem like he minds. He moved in with Michael as soon as he and Ray got a two-bedroom apartment, after all, and was perfectly willing, albeit quite nervous, to be introduced to his parents over Skype. Yep, that guy’s definitely setting out to be a keeper, as far as Michael’s concerned.

 

_“Michael? You still there?”_

 

He rolls his eyes and lets out a long suffering sigh, adjusting the phone on his ear with a shoulder as he tries to shuffle a thick set of papers on the desk to make them into a steady, coherent pile.

 

“He’s doing quite well, thanks for asking,” he says dryly, and secures the papers onto a sturdy metal clipboard. “Lindsay, don’t you have, like, a whole cauldron of porridge to stir for the kids or something? Shouldn’t you be off doing a world of good somewhere else and not bothering me about Gavin again?”

 

 _“I’m serious, Michael,”_ says Lindsay, sounding more earnest this time. _“You told me about his fellowship application last time. How’s that going, by the way?”_

“Oh yeah, he’ll be defending his proposal tomorrow,” says Michael, putting the papers on the table and rubbing a hand through his hair tiredly. It had been a long night, with Gavin in over his head with anxiety over certain equations and frame settings and not letting Michael sleep while he flops around in bed, thinking he’s being all discreet with his worrying. In the end, Michael had to get up and make him a huge mug of tea to calm him down, which Gavin had reciprocated by pushing him up against the kitchen counter and kneeling down so he can swallow his cock, his mouth warm and soft and wet and— _okay,_ this is _so_ not the time to think about last night’s events. He coughs and focuses on relaying the details of Gavin’s proposal with Lindsay, instead.

 

 _“I’m gonna pretend I understood all of that,”_ Lindsay says, _“so let’s move on. How **is** Gavin? Is he, like, really nervous about this?”_

“He probably is, yes,” says Michael, wondering if he should distract the poor guy by playing Call of Duty with Ray, but Gavin would probably be intent on looking over his final revisions and completely ignoring his boyfriend. “But I’m sure he’ll do well.”

 

 _“Dan said he’s been working on that proposal since the end of junior year,”_ says Lindsay, the tone of her voice casual, but Michael _knows_ she’s toeing around him this time, like she’s aware of how weird it is that she and Dan are friends, much more people who regularly communicate across long distances. Gavin says it’s nice, if a bit strange, and Michael shouldn’t bloody _meddle_ with things that don’t concern him. But this _does_ concern Michael somewhat. Lindsay’s his ex-girlfriend, after all, and Dan had been screwing Gavin way before they started dating, so isn’t it going to be really awkward for them to be friends with each other like Dan’s fist didn’t have a star-crossed love affair with Michael’s face?

 

He’d pointed this out to Lindsay _and_ Gavin, who’d both just sighed at him with varying levels of resignation, and told him to stop sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Some best friend and boyfriend they turned out to be.

 

Lindsay interprets Michael’s lengthened silence as an indication of his disapproval, which it is, and sighs.

 

 _“Look, Michael,”_ she says, sounding patient as ever, like she hasn’t tried to explain this to him a dozen times before. _“I know you don’t like me talking with Dan and stuff, but he’s actually very nice once you get over the whole tough-guy act. I mean, he did punch you more than once, and the fact that you and Gavin are dating still seems to be a sore spot, but he really cares about your boyfriend. Isn’t that something, at least?”_

“I just…” Michael wills away the headache trying to form in his head. “I just think you’d be better not being friends with him, you know? There’s a reason why he and Gavin stopped sleeping with each other. I don’t want you getting caught up in that, is all.” He hasn’t told Lindsay the whole issue behind Gavin working as a stripper in Burnie’s club, and the fact that he did it as some sort of a selfless way to get his dickhead of a best friend out of his own mess. He doesn’t think any of this is worth bringing that out into the surface; Gavin’s all but forgotten it already, having made up with Dan before the man went back to England to enlist in the army, and would definitely not thank Michael for informing anyone else about the shadier aspects of their past.

 

 _“I thought that reason was you?”_ Lindsay says mockingly, but her tone changes when she’s met with a miffed silence. _“Michael, I’m a grown lady. I can take care of myself, all right? It’s not like I’m planning on sleeping with him—”_

“Oh, don’t even lie to me, woman,” Michael interrupts, because he _knows_ Lindsay. She _totally_ wants to bang the guy; the fact that Dan’s name keeps popping up in all their conversations is proof enough.

 

_“—fuck you very much. And besides, unless he can actually magically grow his cock more than a hundred miles long so he can screw me while blowing up terrorist armies back in Afghanistan—”_

“Jesus, don’t even talk about that with me,” Michael cuts her off, bemused. “I’m serious, Lindsay. I do _not_ want to know about your weird sexual fantasies about Dan. That’s just— _ugh._ ”

 

“Lindsay’s having fantasies about Dan?” Gavin pipes up from the doorway, ambling into the room with only a towel around his waist. He’s fresh from the shower, droplets of water falling in tiny rivulets down his face and chest and dripping from the hair plastered on his forehead. He looks positively _ravishing,_ wet and naked with only a small piece of fabric shielding his cock from Michael’s gaze.

 

All terrifying thoughts of Lindsay and Dan getting it on promptly flies out of his head and into oblivion, and he lowers his phone, staring at Gavin as he saunters toward the dresser and strips off his towel, revealing his naked ass for Michael’s viewing pleasure.

 

 _“Hey, is that Gavin?”_ Lindsay is asking over the line, but Michael can’t hear her over the sight of his boyfriend butt-naked in front of him, bending slightly over a dresser drawer as he files through his underwear.

 

Michael raises the phone against his ear again, and says, voice a bit strangled, “Listen, Linds. Something came up. Talk to you later, all right?” He watches as Gavin turns at that, sending him a teasing smirk as he pulls out a pair of boxers, sets it on top of the dresser, and proceeds to rub his hair dry with his flimsy towel.

 

 _“…I’m not even gonna ask,”_ is Lindsay’s last, knowing statement before she hangs up. Michael is left with the tantalizing vision of Gavin staring coyly at him through his eyelashes as he towels off the rest of the water from his body. The little fuck is _very much_ aware of the show he’s putting on, Michael thinks as he tosses his phone on the desk unceremoniously, and walks over to his boyfriend with an air of purpose.

 

“So, Lindsay’s got a crush on Dan?” Gavin asks as he draws closer, the corner of his lips twitching. Michael groans at that.

 

“Don’t fucking remind me,” he says, darkly. “Besides, doesn’t it bother you, too?”

 

“Why should it, when you’re here basically devouring me with your eyes?” Gavin says, grinning cheekily. He throws the towel aside and steps forward, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck and leaning in to press his cool, moist lips against Michael’s own. “And I’m pretty sure Lindsay can hold her own against Dan, so leave them be, all right? Besides, it’s sort of hilarious, when you think about it.”

 

Michael really doesn’t think it is, but he supposes he can be persuaded by the way Gavin’s naked, shower-warm skin is pressing against him as they kiss deeply and with intent. He can feel his growing hardness rub against the small of Gavin’s thigh, and he ruts at him, seeking the delicious friction with every rock of his hips.

 

“Easy there,” Gavin chuckles against his lips, pulling away just a bit. “I just showered, didn’t I?”

 

“You can shower again,” Michael breathes out, wholly uncaring. “In fact, we can shower together, yeah?”

 

Gavin hums agreeably, because that is actually a top idea as far as he is concerned. He lets Michael steer him onto the bed, pushing him down until he’s sprawled on the covers, his body on display for Michael’s taking. His cock is already semi-erect, flush against his stomach with the glistening tip peeking out from his foreskin. Michael groans at the sight.

 

“God, you look brilliant,” he says, taking his clothes off with record speed. He crawls on top of Gavin, swooping down to explore his mouth thoroughly with his tongue.

 

“Of course I d— _oh,_ ” Gavin’s cocky reply is cut off by his own whimper when Michael runs a hand up his torso and settles on his chest, flicking his thumb against a nipple as they continue to kiss each other with passionate intent. He reaches around with both hands to cup Michael’s ass, pulling his hips down so they feel their cocks press against each other in a hot flush, and Michael moans into Gavin’s mouth.

 

“L—lube,” Michael manages to say when they resurface, and almost crashes his elbow against Gavin’s nose at his mad scramble for the nightstand where they keep their Astroglide. He pulls out the needed item and crawls his way back to Gavin, who snatches the bottle of lube from his hands with a mischievous smirk.

 

“Hey—” Michael protests, but Gavin is already uncapping the bottle and turning over on the bed so he’s on all-fours. He catches Michael’s wide eyes over his shoulder and says, voice low and teasing, “Just watch, yeah?”

 

Michael gulps as Gavin squirts a liberal amount of lube onto his fingers and reaches behind him, tracing the dusky hole between his ass cheeks and leaving it glistening and wet. Gavin moans at the feeling, letting his fingers trail down so he’s brushing against his perineum, and the sight of him presenting his ass as he pleasures himself is enough for something inside Michael to _snap._

“Give me the lube,” he says hoarsely, making his way across the covers so he’s behind Gavin, and watches as his boyfriend grins and shakes his head.

 

“I can do it—”

 

“Give. Me. The Lube.” Michael practically _growls_ at him, and Gavin flushes, taking his hand off his ass at a sudden, surprising show of obedience. He slides the lube over to Michael, who takes it and rises against his knees so he’s towering over Gavin’s back.

 

“What are you…” Gavin mumbles, looking over his shoulder with a slightly confused expression, and quiets down when he sees Michael staring back at him with eyes that are _smoldering_ with lust.

 

He gasps when Michael reaches over with one hand and pushes his head down on the pillows, making it so that Gavin’s ass is the only part of him that’s up in the air. A moment later and Michael is suddenly draped over him, his mouth pressed against Gavin’s ear as he murmurs, “Stay down and don’t move, babe. I’ll do it for you.”

 

Michael smiles when Gavin whimpers and nods, breathing heavily and adjusting his arms so they’re supporting his weight better on the bed. He pulls away, sitting back as he takes in Gavin’s plump ass, and puts out a hand to caress one smooth cheek.

 

“Bloody get on with it,” Gavin mumbles from the pillows, sounding impatient, and Michael chuckles. He decides to oblige the man, and massages furled skin of Gavin’s hole with a thumb.

 

“God, _yes,_ ” Gavin is wiggling his ass at him as if offering it up for his taking, and Michael can feel his own erection twitch against his thigh. He bends down to bestow an open-mouthed kiss upon Gavin’s left ass cheek, and smiles when his boyfriend mewls and pushes his ass up into the air.

 

 _“More,_ babe,” Gavin is murmuring into his pillow, and takes a sharp breath when Michael grabs the smooth globes of his ass, taking a cheek in each hand, and pries them apart so that his asshole is more visibly exposed.

 

Michael puts out his tongue and flicks it against the wet, panting hole, relishing Gavin’s mewls of pleasure at the feel of his boyfriend’s searching muscle against his sensitive skin. Michael traces the small bud with the tip of his tongue, his hands trying to steady Gavin’s hips, which are desperately pushing into the warm, teasing sensation.

 

“Patience, Gav,” says Michael, pressing a sucking kiss on his asshole, and Gavin _whines,_ looking so utterly _broken_ as he clenches his fists and struggles not to give in to the urge to pump his own cock with his hand.

 

 _“Please,_ Mike, I need…” Gavin tries to articulate himself but fails, and Michael takes pity on him, pulling his ass cheeks further apart so he can burrow his tongue into the ringed muscle in between.

 

Gavin’s stuttered breaths and hip-wriggling is enough to tell Michael that his boyfriend is going crazy over his ministrations, and he pulls away with an air of satisfaction to survey the results. Gavin’s asshole is wet and spit-slick, probably enough to accommodate Michael’s aching cock without the need for more lubing, but he decides to do it anyway, because Gavin is the best when he’s at his most _needy._

 

Gavin purrs low in his throat when Michael slides a lubed finger, and then another, into his ass, stretching the tight muscle with every small, precise movement. He pushes back onto his hand, as if telling him to go deeper, and Michael complies pressing a fond kiss against Gavin’s hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of his hot, tight hole, making sure to brush against that small knot that makes his boyfriend whine and almost thrash against the bed covers.

 

“’M ready babe,” Gavin pants into the bed, and wriggles his hips in invitation. “Need you in me, _fuck.”_

And that’s all it takes for Michael to pull his fingers out with lightning speed and press the head of his cock to Gavin’s wet opening.

 

“Do it,” Gavin groans, and Michael doesn’t waste time before he’s pushing inside, feeling every small ridge of muscle against the sensitive skin of his dick as he goes deeper, until the head of his cock is hitting that same spot that makes Gavin squeeze around him and rock his hips back like a bitch in heat.

 

The ensuing feeling is just so mind-blowingly _good_ that Michael has to pause for a second, willing himself not to come so early like an eager virgin before he’s pulling out again, right until the ridge of his cock meets the opening of Gavin’s ass, and thrusting back in with so much _force_ that he’s crashing against his swollen prostate.

 

Gavin practically sobs as Michael continues to drive in and out of his ass, mumbling out indecipherable platitudes as he burrows his head into the pillows, desperately seeking for purchase against the overwhelming feeling of his prostate being hit again and again by the head of Michael’s hard cock. His own dick is leaking, the precome dripping from his slit and soaking the sheets under him, his cockhead an angry shade of red at the gross lack of attention.

 

Somehow Michael senses this, because his hand is suddenly feeling around Gavin’s waist and grasping at his cock, pumping his erection with a lube hand. Gavin gasps and almost comes when Michael’s hand travels up his length, his slick palm _sliding_ over the sensitive head and making his knees tremble.

 

“Michael, _don’t—_ ” Gavin tries to warn him, but Michael just continues to thrust in and out of him, his hand not leaving his cock, and instead pulls at his foreskin so his head is fully exposed. Gavin lets out a loud, broken moan when Michael mercilessly repeats sliding his palm against the swollen, vulnerable surface. And does it again. And _again_.

 

 _“Oh my god,”_ Gavin sobs, and comes so _hard_ that he almost blacks out, the combined sensations of Michael’s cock crashing against his prostate and his hand teasing the sensitive head of his dick more than enough to send him over the edge. He squeezes around Michael tightly, which drives the man to redouble his efforts. He pumps in and out of Gavin without any semblance of a rhythm, milking the come from his boyfriend’s cock until he moans and shudders at the almost-painful sensation, and then Michael is following him over the brink, clenching Gavin’s cock tightly as he spends into the tight channel of his ass.

 

“Fuck,” is all Michael can say after several moments of silence only broken by their harsh panting, and he pulls away from Gavin, wincing slightly as the clenched opening of his ass catches on the sensitive underside of his spent cock. He flops down on the bed, staring blearily at Gavin who is looking so utterly _debauched,_ sprawled on his chest and breathing slowly as he tries to summon what remains his strength. He turns over with some difficulty until he’s facing Michael, and smiles dumbly at him, letting out a small hum of content.

 

“Love you,” says Gavin, like he always does now every time they finish having sex, or every time they do anything else together actually, and it always strikes Michael dumb, the fact that he’s so _honest_ with this, and it makes him want to pull the man closer and never, _ever_ let go.

 

“I—I love you, too,” Michael manages to say, because it’s always harder for him to just bare himself like that, like the natural, comfortable way Gavin does it. But it doesn’t look like his boyfriend minds, because he just grins wider and scoots over so he can press himself against Michael and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

 

“’M tired now,” Gavin mumbles, sounding like he’s well on his way into dreamland. “Shower later, yeah?”

 

“Good plan,” Michael breathes out with a laugh, and kisses his forehead, watching with an embarrassingly smitten expression as Gavin closes his eyes into a deep, peaceful sleep.

\--

 

 

“I think I’m gonna barf,” Gavin mutters, chewing at his lip worriedly as he stands outside the small lecture hall, clutching at the bunch of papers in his hand with so much force they’re starting to crumple.

 

“Stop that,” Michael huffs, and walks over to take his proposal away from him before he ruins them with his sweaty fists. “Take a deep breath, okay? You’ll do well. You’re, like, a fucking genius at this.”

 

“I couldn’t get through it without your help,” Gavin points out, and blanches at the thought. “Oh my god, I’m going to fail epically in there, aren’t I? Because you’re not gonna be there to hold my hand through it? I’m gonna forget all my main points and some stuck-up professor’s gonna be asking a mindfuck question and I’m just gonna be standing there like a bloody twat with my—”

 

“You have a Powerpoint presentation, okay? You won’t forget anything because you threw every little important information in there, if I remember correctly. Besides, we asked Professor Haywood to sit through a practice defense last week. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

 

“I was horrible in that,” Gavin says, lip wobbling as he tries to quell the mounting unpleasantness in his gut. “I stumbled over my words, mixed up at least two of my main arguments, and forgot what one of the bloody equations was for! Michael, please take me home, I’m gonna—”

 

“Shut up, you were awesome and you know it. Yes, you forgot a lot of things, but you remembered them right after you consulted your notes, so stop winding yourself up over this, all right?” Michael says patiently, and leans over to press a small kiss on Gavin’s temple before pulling away to straighten his collar. “You’ll be fucking great in there, trust me.”

 

“Believe the man, Mr. Free.” They both turn to see Professor Haywood walking through the corridor and toward them, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You were great. And if the people in there don’t see it the same way, I’m going to make use of my expertise to invent a high-powered laser so we can melt their stupid plastic coffee tumblers when they’re not looking.” The glint in his eyes makes Gavin wonder if he’s joking, but Professor Haywood’s always been like that, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want him to be anything else.

 

It makes him feel a whole lot better, having some of the most important men in his life believing in his ability to make a name for himself in the field.

 

He can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips and he gives his professor a cheeky look. “I’ll hold you on to that, Professor.”

 

“So you’re suddenly okay when he’s the one saying it?” Michael grumbles, sounding a bit offended, and Gavin chuckles before giving him a sound kiss.

 

“Shut up, you knob. I believe you, too.”

 

And he really does, because Michael’s been there for him through all of this. Even when he decided to quit working in the club with a fervent promise to Burnie that he’ll find some other way to pay him back for everything (the man had agreed, because he’s really a good person, it’s just that Gavin never trusted him enough to ask him this before), and an earnest one to Geoff that he’ll never sell his own body again just for sake of paying his debts (his manager took one look at him and promptly drew him into a tight hug, mumbling about how he’s finally come to his senses and he shouldn’t even be stripping anyway, not with this bright of a future ahead of him). Even when he finally, _finally_ ended things with Dan, moving out of their small flat into Michael and Ray’s newly-rented two-bedroom apartment, promising his best friend in the entire universe that this doesn’t mean he doesn’t love him anymore, because he still does, it’s just that they really need to stop living in each other’s pockets before it actually kills them, one way or another. Even when Gavin got shortlisted for the fellowship grant, and there’s a whole truckload of revisions he had to make (he was losing his bollocks over it and Michael—sweet, dependable Michael—was there to step in and make sure he’s got all his facts and figures straight, with Professor Haywood’s help, of course).

 

And now he’s still here, making sure Gavin’s got his head screwed on properly before he goes out there in front of every respectable name in the local physics community, about to earn that future he’s always wanted for himself eversince he found out he could be something more than his best friend’s little sidekick, or a shady figure through the haze of smoke and lust-filled sighs that permeated Burnie’s establishment like poison through his lungs.

 

And Christ, Gavin’s just so thankful that Michael’s still here putting up with all his bullshit, and so _in love_ with the man that he can’t even be bothered to worry about what’s going to happen after this, anymore. Because Michael trusts everything will be fine, no matter what.

 

And if Michael believes that, Gavin’s pretty sure he does, too.

 

“Gavin Free?” A woman pokes her head out of the doorway, clipboard in hand.

 

“That’s me,” Gavin says, turning from Michael and Professor Haywood to smile at the lady in greeting.

 

“You’re up,” she says, and gestures for him to come inside. “Please bring all your necessary documents with you.”

 

Gavin nods and turns back to Michael, who is holding out his proposal and looking at him with that bright, proud expression in his eyes.

 

“Fucking kick their asses,” Michael says, gives him another kiss, for luck.

 

And just like that, Gavin suddenly knows he _will_.

 

He gives Michael one last, happy look, takes his proposal, and walks into the room with air of a man about to conquer his dreams.

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[1]** Okay, so I’m aware that Michael’s birthday is on the 24th of July, and that’s well into the summer, but for the purposes of this fic I kind of changed this fact into sometime during the first semester. I’m really sorry omg but I hope the rest of the plot makes up for this. *lays down*  
>  **[2]** (On Chapter Twelve) I know that it’s, like, the industry standard to have a demo shoot with just the newbie porn star masturbating on cam before they actually go on with any real filming, but I decided to skip through that for the sake of propelling the plot. Besides, Joel is fun to write, too.  
>  **[3]** All credits on the science-y bits go to my beta, Stephanie, who is enough of a genius to give me a crash course on Optics through e-mail. She’s absolutely awesome and is responsible for the fact that this fic is a bit better than the usual bullshit I produce. Every fic writer needs Steph in their lives tbh.  
>  **[4]** Interesting story: Stephanie doesn’t actually have a Tumblr, and I don’t know her irl. She just came in one day and told me she’d beta my fics, like a fucking fairy godmother of fic writing. I don’t know what I did to deserve her perfection.  
>  **[5]** My endless thanks go to Abbey (tumblr: imaginedecember), who stepped in after me and Stephanie were finished and provided the ever-needed concrit for my final draft. My first final word count was already a ghastly 40k, but after she was done with it the fic length went up to almost 50k words. So, yep. You have this lady to thank for that.


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